


These Faded Stars Along Our Horizons

by ch3stpaynes



Category: One Direction
Genre: Anemic Character, Assistant Zayn - Freeform, Breathing Impairment, Chef Liam, Dirty Talk, Father Liam Payne, Kid Fic, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pretty smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:16:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch3stpaynes/pseuds/ch3stpaynes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn isn't used to <i>this</i>; the buzzing feeling that comes along with pinched grins, cherry red lips and eyes like Sunday morning coffee. He's used to smogged out cities, not enough oxygen between each breath and perhaps a few spliffs with the boys when the weather isn't absolutely dreadful. </p><p>And Liam Payne may just flip all of his priorities upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Faded Stars Along Our Horizons

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based on a few lovely prompts I've read over the past couple of months. It's basically just a big mash-up of inspiration and ideas that have either come to me naturally, or from the many other amazing writers on this site. So, credit to them for being anything but ordinary.
> 
> Once again, I want to apologize if any of the non-fictional facts in this story are inaccurate. I know how that can be irritating. I did try my best to line things up into a neat, and efficient manner. 
> 
> Finally, I would just like to thank the incredible Cait for all of her unforgettable support. The inspiring Jesse for his child name suggestion. And the fantastic Mckenna for the medical and nursing lingo that I've tossed into the story line. 
> 
> With that all out of the way, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it a great deal.

"S'different, I know." 

Waliyha pads along cold, chipped tile, mug between her fingers as she hushes steady blows along the porcelain rim. Boiling tea because she insisted on unpacking the kettle first. Digging and mucking about for an hour and a fucking half for Yorkshire and sugar. Zayn slumps back, sighs into his palm and battles out a groan. Holds the aggravation down, a bitter taste, something like gasoline in his mouth every time he even thinks about calling this place a home.

It simply isn't.

There are local parks and trees and twisted vines that crawl up the sides of downtown shops. There are blue skies and a major lack of factories and this place is  _nothing_  like the town he used to live in. The place he longs to return to. This isn't exactly the same, in fact, it's severely different in so many ways Zayn can't exactly keep up. 

"I know it isn't Bradford. But you've got t' have faith, it  _can_  be." She leans against his doorframe, sips along the plastic rim and hums in between tongue dips. Boxes up to her ankles because they've barely made a dent and Louis never showed like he promised (not like Zayn expected as much) and he blames it all on  _this_  place.

Or perhaps he's just righteously too stubborn to trust a moving company with his dusty pillows and cigarette stained bed linens.

He's a mess. A proper disaster.

"Can be." Zayn repeats, hates the way his sister seems so hopeful when this isn't exactly a new leaf.

It's just a new place for him to muck up in. A new canvas for him to ignite with flames and go bloody mental over. A new disaster just looking for that one spark of interest.

It's everything  _but_  the town he loves. The town he knows and the town he grew up in. The big city with nicotine as "fresh" air and faded graffiti splattered along brick walls and stuffy sidewalks.

"S'for the best. Baba's proud and mum's-" Waliyha dents in along her bottom lip.

"Lost all hope?" Zayn offers, blinks at the sun as it shines brutally through open windows. Magenta rays and blinding spotlights. He's in desperate need of curtains and perhaps a bed. Or a few pillows. He can rally until then, though. He always has, simply enough. Like being 17 all over again. Him, Jax, Chris and a package of fags on dreary, gloomed over nights with not enough of the moon to go around.

"Shush! She's just shocked s'all. Wishes you well and loves ya' to the sun n'd back, you know that." Waliyha circles her fingertip along the base of her mug, taps impatiently, sincere features, pure intentions with all of  _this_ , but there's something missing.

There always is.

"You wanted this, Z." She reminds, regrettably enough. And Zayn sinks lower if possible. Hopes that this ratty, old couch will swallow him whole along with every possible mention of his existence. Every clue that he was ever who he is.

Who he was.

He lets out this siren of a groan, one hand lost in his fucked hair, a finger from his opposed thumbing under thin, chapped lips.

"Things'll look up, I promise, sunshine." She smiles, this mischievous hint of  _something_  in the way she dabs her tongue out. An exact replica of their mum, Zayn thinks.

(Perhaps a less disappointed and let down version, but Trisha nonetheless in more ways than one.)

"S'a sweet town, Zayn. You'll see." She adds kicks lightly at the cardboard packages littered around her feet, a city of boxes and old band posters because Zayn discovered those first out of everything.

"Highly doubt it." Zayn mumbles under his breath because he can't see himself here.

He's a city lad, born and raised with nothing but the puffing of the tube pulling in and out of the station by his Bradford building, cig's at half past twelve with a bunch of punks, Chris and J and a few spliffs to go around.

It's just what he knows. What he remembers the most.

What he misses the most.

"Well," Waliyha hums, plops herself down beside Zayn, hisses slightly when the still steaming tea in her cup sloshes and coats her fingertips, "at least you've got a job, right?"

"A shitty one." Zayn answers, chews along the inside of his cheek and huffs, regrettably. 

"Oi, stop it, drama queen." Waliyha teases with a pinch to his shoulder, "plus, heard they can't sack ya' on the first day. You've got a few strikes or summat."

Zayn rolls his eyes at that, nudges her side and quirks his lip up, humorously, "shut it."

"M'just saying, Z. You're blessed. You've even got Louis, that bloody devil, out here with you, the goddamn traveler. He'd pack up his life for you and you're still moping about." She presses her lips together, glosses over the inside of her teeth with her tongue and releases, "you just need some time t' realize it." 

Zayn compresses, smiles just a little bit at the mention of him. 

Louis.

A right terror, pain in his arse but a complete and full on  _legend_  in Zayn's book because he's just so carefree, jaunty like in every scenario possible. He's witty, lives on the down low when he needs to. Edgy when smashed. Peppy and sarcastic with nothing more than a "perhaps" sort of tweet to a girl after one of his brilliant shags.

He's the closest Zayn's ever had to a best mate. Closer than Zayn's other Bradford buddies at least. Closer than some of his family because he can't quite manage to keep up with all of them nowadays.

"M'serious." Waliyha says, sternly.

"Yeah, yeah." Zayn bows his head, surrendering. 

He sinks back into the stiff sofa. Some faked out leather material that he's held with him throughout apartment complex switching and moving across country. His fingertips trace along the skin like material, a briefing sigh that slips his lips and lingers along the air like November winds. 

He's exhausted, beat. His lungs itch for a cigarette and his hands are shaky, trembling as they jitter along his thigh.

It most definitely isn't an addiction.

Or maybe it is. But it's a soothing one, and he's digging around in his pocket before pushing himself up, waving off his sister when she scolds him for 'absolutely roasting his insides' and shoves past his front door.

The hallway is narrow. Door after door, a ragged carpet that makes Zayn's welcome mat inside look fit for a king. Cracked, cheape sanded tile that Zayn can barely catch a shimmer off of. Smudged stained windows with small cracks along the edges. Swiveling, cutting through the thin glass like razor blades. Stained doorknobs and just a scattering of dents in the wall from-

Preferably, Zayn likes to hope it isn't evidence of a late night slam down between the other neighbors in his building, but, well.

He sniffs, the air something a ton like dust and stale, dead butts left for the sun to dry out. He remembers a smell like this from somewhere else, an abandoned building he once knew and snuck into a few times over the previous summer. Just him and a pack of lucky strikes with some company from the fireflies, sparking, illuminating the night just so he wouldn't feel so fucking alone. And now he sort of wishes he got his shit together a long time ago. A time where he wasn't the least bit grateful for what he had and what could be easily snatched away from him. 

There's a fire escape up ahead, a rusted handle with a 'not in use' sign hung low under the panel window. Filthy fingerprints and messy scribbles that look a lot like sharpy markings. 

Zayn sways forward, snorts at the way this place is so dreary. Finds it a tad comical how Waliyha could even possibly think of this place as anything else but utter bullshit, or tragic misplacement, or quite frankly, just a sickening joke.

Probably because she's set up somewhere just a little less off putting. A little less rough with a little less recipe for danger. Some refurbished condo downtown with granite counter tops and furniture that doesn't make Zayn's bum sore from contact. She's been here for months and Zayn doesn't find her advantage all too helpful. Not when he's ankles deep in clutter and cardboard and dust. 

The roof isn't large, but it's big enough. Open. A view of a town that Zayn can't really grasp just yet.

 _Or ever_ , he thinks, irritated as he draws back a pack from his front pocket, a quick nip of his lighter in his right hand, a flicker of fuel sparked along metal as he takes his first drag. Allows the smoke to swirl, consume his lungs and pool around like nimbostratus clouds in the early Spring.

He thinks this is all just something from a modern day Hemingway novel. An Edgar Allan Poe story with a petite twist of ' _why the fuck am I here_ ' as the punchline. He doesn't find this too comforting. The way he's set up. 

But, well, he can't entirely curse the world for having him here when he's the one who insisted. He wanted this. 

 _Needed_  this. 

This desperate retreat to figure it all out. A move, like that will resolve all of his issues. Make them dissolve like washed away sidewalk chalk out front of his old building. A building that wasn't exactly home, but close enough. Trees without ruffling, green leaves and lively, juniper grass. 

And now he's too far off. Too far away from what he truly loves.

He knows this new place won't change him. But he also knows it's just part of the process.The same one that always ends up fucking him over in the end, anyway. But, well, maybe he'll make something of himself here. 

(Although that won't change the fact this town is new, new, new in every possible definition.)

And this place isn't home.

 

**===**

It's clearly inevitable no matter how far he strays- mornings. 

The slow draw of bird chirps even when there don't seem to be many trees around in this part of town. The dreary blinks that come along with confrontation and early 'hello's', drowsy, held long breaths with the scent of coffee in the air. Mocha lattes and something that reminds Zayn of his mum. A perfume. A fragrance that has him frowning into his computer screen and swallowing down groggy, mangled hums every time he attempts to clear his throat.  

This sort of dragging exhaustion that lingers under his unsettling business gettup. The slacks that he absolutely hates and the sticky undershirt that he would find good fun in burning. A walking cliché. Just your typical London bloke who's desperately trying to squeeze into something worth it. Something that will bring good to his last name. 

Not criminal charges and spliffed out weekends with all of the wrong kids in all the wrong parts of town with all of the wrong intentions. 

(But that was years ago, he's making it better, making up for it now because he can).

Zayn swallows, battles out a yawn and blinks away the gloss that pools in his eyes. Eyelashes like thick, dooey webs along his cheeks. 

There's this scratchy  squabble from near by. Too near by and Zayn tucks away a grin into his shoulder when- "Look who it is. Mr. Malik lookin' top notch as usual, eh?" 

Louis is there, propped up against Zayn's cubicle wall. Scuffed up vans and his usual dark stained skinnies. A quiff that's swept up into this familiar tidal wave and Zayn shakes his head when he pats forward. He knows he shouldn't be here, he's just-

"Defo, though, mate. Absolutely posh." Louis nods, impressed. Clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and slips easily into the spare chair beside Zayn's desk. 

It's a creaky, funny looking stool-like structure that wobbles with the slightest pinch of pressure. Something he's still getting used to. Worn out furniture and way too much empty space for this corner to even be considered ' _Zayn Malik_ ' presence worthy. 

"Think so? Thought it looked properly daft." Zayn shrugs, puffs his cheeks and waits for Louis to kick his feet up. 

He does, stretches his arms back and above his head, winks when Zayn lifts his head from his screen. Meeting schedules, dinner dates, business brunches all for his boss. And Zayn sort of hates to delve into the whole assistant factor. How he's let it all get  _this_  bad. 

Like his whole world has been flipped around and he's left with the clothes on his back, Louis and some ratty apartment on the corner of Hodson street. 

(Or maybe that's exactly what's happened and Zayn's still dazed and confused over it all).

"Know so, Z." Louis bites at a grin, taps shaky fingers along his thigh and drops his smile after a good two seconds. 

"Don't look so glum, man. You're like a prince here, assistant n'd all for Mr. Styles himself." Louis snorts, cackles out something atrocious and Zayn sort of maybe wants to knock him one in the mouth. 

"Says the prick in desperate need of a job." Zayn scoffs, clicks away at his tab and slumps back along puffy cushion. The seat deflates beneath him and leaves him with a hard surface to rest himself on. He settles in anyway and lifts his chin when the conversation sparks again. 

"Correction," Louis chimes, holds up a finger, "m'preferably unemployed. There's a difference."

"Right, right. N'd filthy rich from-"

"Me gran? Yeah, could say that." Louis shrugs and Zayn swallows down that burn in his throat. The mix of detestment and admiration he holds for rich, posh lads like Louis. He's a proper mate, always has been with his money and all. Generous as all hell to Zayn, but, well, everything else is sort of unacknowledged. Pushed off to the side like some old ragdoll and left to collect dust for eternal ages. 

"S'a blessing, though. How d'ya reckon I'd keep up with ya' if I was a poor bloke? You're speedy, Malik. Can't stay in one place f'r too long." Louis drabbles, knocks his head back to gawk at the calendar Zayn's hung up along the thinned, cardboard wall. 

He's right in every way. Zayn's never been stationary. Planted in one spot because that's too boring, or that's too expected. He's a traveler. Or rather just a runaway fuckup who can't seem to own up to his mistakes. And it's bitterly awakening. How he knows he can't return to the place he longs for, but, well. He's got this hope under his skin that one day he can. One day where he'll be able to skip over that border with a giddy smile and a middle finger to the world and everyone that doubted him for making it work. This insane back and forth lifestyle that he can't really keep up with on his own. 

"Exactly." Louis chirps, suddenly. And Zayn arches a brow, shakes away a smile and clicks along his mouse pad. Sticky fingertips and blurry vision because- fuck, it's still so early. 

"Y'know," Louis begins, "I could get some of me architect buds in here, jazz it up a bit, right?" He says, comically. 

"Might as well just call in Wali, she's already got me unpacked, a right mess but like, it's almost-" Zayn cracks, drops his sentence because, well.

"Like a bachelor pad?" Louis sneers, bright, wide eyes along with it. And Zayn gives him this look that's something like a silent 'thank you', because Louis knows the word that Zayn holds under his tongue every time it could very well be brought up. The word he refuses to spill past his lips because they aren't true, they aren't true, they aren't true. 

"Yeah," Zayn nods, "bachelor pad." 

"Well, it'll be sick f'r when you throw massive parties, then." Louis wiggles his eyebrows, slick. 

"Massive parties," Zayn repeats with a smirk, because that's surely indefinite. 

Although it all sort of depends on how long Zayn can keep his sanity and perhaps his-

"I'd better be invited, then, hm?" 

Her voice is sweet. A scent like honeydew and vanilla, mixed when she strolls into the space. And Zayn sort of melts into it all in that moment. 

The office neighbor. Or Lou because that's no mystery. Her long, blonde hair, frizzy and a right mess most mornings when Zayn saunters in half a second past 7 am. Eyes like turned over leaves in the Summer, green vines tangled up along lake cabins. Sweet welcomes and more than a few offered energy refreshers because she's sort of got his back for no particular reason. And he sort of admires that motherly instinct she holds so dearly to her heart. It's something like day five and she's got an eye out for him. 

"Don't count on it, Zaynie isn't much of a company guy." Louis sparks up and Zayn glares at him. That's only partly true. 

(Or maybe he's exact, but, well).

"Really? I took 'im for more of a crazy, mental uni student with a keen interest in getting smashed for a living." Lou teases, throws in a playful knock to Zayn's shoulder. 

"M'kidding you, darling." She smiles. It's radiant, sends warmth across Zayn's skin and he shivers, barley, when she turns to her desk. 

"So who's this delightful creature?" Louis wonders from his chair, wobbles back and curses under his breath when he nearly topples to the floor. 

"Malik's guardian angel, that's who." Lou fires back and Zayn muffles a chuckle into his palm. Hopes Louis doesn't hear him because he's just a tad defensive. Or maybe he's a full on tank ready to blast a hole through any living organism that insults him or his being. 

"I see how it is. Brilliant." Louis nods off and Zayn shakes his head, baffled how he always ends up like a smirking idiot at 8 am. 

Although he won't complain because it's better than sulking and wishing he could fly away from this place. A week in and he's already planning his disappearance. 

"Brilliant would be an understatement, lovely." Lou bites at a grin, unloads her handbag onto her desk and plops into her seat, her toms brushing along the tile. 

"More like fool proof. I'm out t' steal your best bud. Gonna win 'im over with some cheap colas and back massages." Lou giggles, shovels it away into her shoulder and runs a few fingers through her wild hair. A color like lightning bolts, shocked, fizzy. 

"Are you hearing this, Z?" Louis wonders, gawking, creases his lips into a thin line. 

"Mhm." Zayn nods, amused, high off of the contentness spreading through his blood. A sweet type of poison. 

He hates to admit that he's settling in. A week's worth of friendly greetings and he sort of adores the friendly hint to everything and everyone here. It's inevitable to fall in love with a place when the people stuck there with you are polite and canny. Tip top and " _lovely townies, Z"_  his sister swears because she knows everything there is to know about this place and it's casualties. 

All of the little gumdrops and cranberries that come along with new, new, new. 

"Well, hope you're both quite satisfied. I'll be leaving, then." Louis perks up quickly, lifts his chin like he doesn't need any of this and skids towards the hallway. 

"Unemployed prat." Zayn mumbles under his breath, earns a low giggle from Lou who's already begun to click away at her keyboard. 

Jittery fingers that Zayn blames on the coffee. Or the burgundy sludge that Mary from graphic design swears is coffee, but Zayn can't help but relate the toxin to oil and waste and everything else that unpleasantly floats through a sewer line. 

"Preferably unemployed!" Louis corrects with a yelp and Zayn swipes his tongue across his teeth to stifle a laugh, loops it around and catches it between his front. A habit.

"Haven't talked much of 'im," Lou points out, her chair squeaking from a quick shift.

"Yeah, s'not much to say about him. He's just a mad rebel for like, no reason." Zayn bows his head, sniffs in fresh print from his printer. New.

"Seems awfully mental, a lot a kids like him back in Bradford?" Lou wonders, her lips glossed over in some sparkly chap stick. Shiny and sticky from some pink tube she keeps in her pen jar. 

"Eh, he's the only one that stuck around." Zayn shrugs, tucks away a frown because he won't think about the others. The punks who left him for dead when he was 18 and spray painting lyrics to the side of some pricks mansion. This sort of live free or die saying repeating itself like a broken record in his head the whole way through. 

"Well, I won't leave ya, you need me whether you're willin' to accept it or not." Lou throws in a wink and Zayn keeps his head bowed, hopes to shake the memory with some off putting scheduling and a few phone calls dealing with his bosses dinner later on. 

"Like right now f'r instance, you've got work to do. Get on it, Malik." She orders, kicks at his chair lightly with her flats and spins along a grin. 

"Work," He repeats, quietly. Doesn't entirely like the word or the way it feels rough splitting along his tongue, but. He runs his fingertips along the edges of the thin cut paper stuffed into a messy pile beside his keyboard. A distraction. 

"Careful, love, you'll cut yourself." Lou jets out a hand, swipes the papers from Zayn's grasp and stacks them neatly along the rim of her desk. 

"What would I do without you?" He wonders aloud and slumps back when she simply giggles. 

"You'd go mental," She replies, a swipe of her tongue followed, a speedy slip to wet her lips. 

And Zayn thinks that's the closest thing to accurate he's going to hear all day. 

 

===

 

The coach is stuffy. 

There's bustling city goers, not enough seats and people with umbrellas because they can, because it may or may not be slightly more mucky in Stamford than it is in Bradford. Here in this new city with this new weather forecast and this new life. 

But Zayn wanted this. 

Needed this. 

There's this slight drizzle. Grey clouds swirled into the sky like smoke from one of his cig's. Water droplets gliding along dulled glass, down, down, down. The sky a deepening indigo with streaks of crimson shot in like creamer in morning coffee. 

Zayn's got his thumbs tapping away at his mobile screen, beats swallowing up his ears as he blurs between reality and sleep, a light tune of ' _These fishes in the sea they're starin' at me A wet world aches for the beat of a drum_ ' swimming into his head. Filling up his thoughts with something that feels a lot like comfort. And for a second he feels content again. 

He sighs, drags his thumb up a long list of messages. One after another from his mum. A few from his sister, a couple from Louis and one from Lou because Zayn fancies her humor quite a lot and thought that he might as well add her into his fresh new set of contacts. 

There's this feeling of home when his eyes travel along the paved over roads, a basket ball court hung between a few trees. Brick patios marked up with a little bit of graffiti. This sprits of words along tinted sidewalk that draws a smile past Zayn's lips. 

Almost home. 

(Or just as close as he's going to get to anything home like for a while).

 

===

 

There's this lively scent to the air, the way a steady breeze carries along Zayn's skin, cool, prickly as it tingles across the surface. Trees blocking out the sun, a cigarette between his lips and he feels sort of alive. 

Alive with the feeling of smoke clouded inside his lungs, alive with the shaky leaves and green grass. Alive with his heart thumping inside of his chest, nicotine fresh through his blood like the bullet train in west Bradford. His eyes caught up on the playground centered in Bulwell park. A scenic, grassed over meadow with metal swings, wood chips and climbing structures that are absolutely loaded, crowded with children. Scrambling hands and knees as they throw themselves around copper bars, slide themselves down metal slicked slides and tag along as they run after each other. 

Zayn takes a steady drag, holds the smoke in his lungs and smiles at the memory of being twelve and clueless. The teeter-totter with Waliyah and shoving Safaa down a slide she was too afraid to go about on her own. He was a right devil, spiked up hair and an overwhelming obsession with Marvel and comic strips from the shop down his block. 

He's yet to come across his saved prints, all of his DVD sets that he's clung onto because he can't quite cut that part of his childhood out. 

It's all sort of withstandable, happy and he's got a good-

"8 more minutes."

He tilts his head, archs a brow at the voice. The words that he swore he just heard, but-

Zayn's eyes drag along small hightops, white, barely scuffed or broken in. Jeans that follow all the way up to his hips like fitting trousers should, a flannel tied around his waist like he's some sort of kid model for Vogue. His hair a curly, tossed up mess, brown locks swept up above his forehead, eyes the color of chestnuts, swirling brown. A coffee sort of tint that's sort of pleasing. He looks tired, looks like he's just woken up from an afternoon kip and he's skipped his energy bar and protein shake because he's so well kept that he's got to have some sort of odd morning routine.

"8 off ya' life." The kid adds, holds up eight of his fingers and pouts his bottom lip out, eyes dragging over the cig still tucked into Zayn's lips. 

And he almost snorts at it- the irony. He really means to quit and now he's being called out by children in a park, he's just-

"Oh my god, m'so sorry." 

The voice is gentle and it carries along Zayn's ears like music. Like his late night beats sessions with nothing but charcoal scribbles and lit candles because his current salary isn't quite enough to keep hot water and running electrical 24/7. 

Zayn lifts his head, flicks the ember from his lit fag into the grass, dabs out the end into the bench and allows it to fall between the wooden cracks. 

He finally matches the deeper voice to a figure, drags his eyes along the bloke in front of him and, well-

 _Fuck_. 

He doesn't mean to  _gawk_  or  _stare_  for too long, but, well he is and there's nothing stopping his eyes and the way they cling like ticks to the lad. 

His hair is swept back into this neat wave, like he spent hours on it just for simple occasion. Warming brown eyes that match with the child's. A general 'sorry about my kid' face that he's probably gotten pretty ace at pulling over the years. Lips a full, pink, plump set Zayn sort of shifts himself at. He's biting at a smile and Zayn watches as he plants himself beside the little boy. Drums his fingers along his son's shoulders before the kid backs up and away. 

"S'cool." Zayn mumbles out, unsure, just a tad bit dazed. Knocked out of his usual focus as he watches small legs carry themselves towards a grass patch merely a few feet away. 

"Colin's just, er, curious? A right terror with strangers." The boy offers, hesitantly. This baritone voice that's got Zayn's full attention. Striking him like lightning and reeling him in. 

"Yeah," Zayn nods, shovels out a cough and quirks his lip up. Repeats the name in his head over and over until it sets right into his brain. 

Colin.

"M'Liam." The boy extends his hand, coughs, lifts plump lips into a smile and waits for Zayn to comply. 

He does, reaches across the space inbetween them and sets their shake firmly, "Zayn."

"Zayn." Liam repeats, his cheeks a light shade of crimson as he tastes the words, lets the roll around and dance along his tongue, "nice t' meet you, Zayn." 

Zayn nods, subtly, runs his fingertips along the sleeve of his jacket and stuffs his opposite hand into his front pocket. 

His eyes trail behind Liam, gaze struck, set on the child who's sat in the green patch a few feet away. Hands outstretched as he dips his two action figures along the edge of where the wood chips meet the bladed grass. His lips parted, buzzing, humming away. 

It reminds him of his childhood. Not exactly, but close enough. Batman and Green lantern and a bath full of suds. His mum a blushy mess as she attempted to gel his hair. Sputtering giggles and a soaked washroom floor within minutes because Zayn remembers hating that shampoo and the way it smelt like his Jaddah and her toxic perfume. 

"S'he yours?" Zayn wonders, but, wait- "Er, I meant, like, obviously, but- maybe?" He stutters, curses himself repeatedly inside of his head and chews at the inside of his cheek when Liam laughs, tilts his head back and bellows softly, something deep, drawn up from far down in his lungs and Zayn sort of maybe instantly falls in love with it. 

Maybe. 

"Yeah, he's mine." Liam glances over his shoulder, bites at the corner of his lip and keeps a steady gaze on the kid. 

 _His_  kid. 

"I c'n, like. Yeah, I c'n tell." Zayn musters out, rubs along the back of his neck and compares the two. Matching hightops, similar flannels,  _twins_. 

"Six and still properly fancies action figures," Liam laughs, "jus' like me, I guess." 

Zayn tucks his tongue between his teeth, some sound just short of a giggle pressing past the barrier and spilling into the air like spritzed perfume in some brand store downtown. 

"Action figures are sick, though, yeah?" Zayn thumbs along his lower lip, hates how dry they are with the changing of seasons. The rapid coming and going of humidity and rainfall and every other weather related spill of mother nature that comes with the world. 

"Oh, most definitely. I jus' er, didn't know if, y'know." Liam trails off, lifts his hand to rub along the nape of his neck, "s'daft." 

"Nah, man." Zayn shakes his head, shifts along the bench and shies away from a patch of sun that beams brightly into his eyes. 

It's quiet after that, distant giggles and shouts from a playground Zayn's nimbly stumbled across. The every once and a while gust of wind that triggers a shiver, draws goosebumps along his skin, up his arms and down his legs. 

"Into music?" Liam wonders suddenly, rocks back on the balls of his feet with both of his hands shoveled into his jean pockets. 

Zayn raises a brow, follows Liam's gaze all the way to his right arm. An inky mistake from when he was 18 and spliffed out of his mind. Some 'sick tat' Jax talked him into after a few pissed beers and a couple joints. A microphone, because Zayn's spontaneous when fucked up. And that was something he felt like he needed to prove back when he could afford to fuck up. Back when he was just some knock-along with an interest in art and scribbling out pointless sketches in between kips and family socialization. 

Or the good days, because, man. He misses those. 

"Oh, er, sorta? Like, s'cool, I mean." Zayn answers with a shrug, quirks his lips because it's a daft habit he's picked up from Waliyha and her silly Twitter icons. Or Doniya and all of the outrageous pictures she's been messaging him lately. 

(A reminder that no matter how far he strays from home, they'll always be a family-

-Or something like that Zayn swears she got from their mum because she's all sorts of sentimental.)

"Not like properly fit to be a musician or anything, just a listener, I s'pose." Zayn shrugs, traces a thumb up along the inky artwork printed to his skin. 

"I get it, yeah." Liam says, sincerity present in his voice. "What are ya' into as far as tunes?" He wonders, curiously. This expression like ' _I'm actually interested in hearing this_ ' and Zayn's sort of baffled. It isn't common- conversation between him and random country blokes, but. 

"R&B mostly, m'into some John Legend, rap. Sick and catchy." Zayn lists, words slowed down, slurred out like he's had too many. Only he hasn't and maybe he's just sort of buzzed off of this conversation. 

(Or just Liam, he hasn't decided yet because- _wow_.)

"A man of many tastes," Liam grins something manic and Zayn snorts. 

"You could say that, I guess." He fiddles his thumbs, eyes drag passed Liam and to the little boy still humming to himself in the grass, shaking loose curls from above his eyes with every shake of his head, every jolt of his hand.  

"How about karaoke?" Liam asks suddenly and Zayn arches a brow, surprised. 

"M'a shit singer, mate." He laughs, low, a fogged up memory from when he was 21 and smashed, signing along to some Usher tune at the Garage bar down the street from his bagging job. 

"Really? I just thought, I dunno, but I was just wondering, right? 'Cause, um, I've got this bar-" Liam cuts off, coughs to clear his throat, "no, it isn't a bar, more like a cafe? Or, erm-"

"A diner?" Zayn offers, amusement spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. 

"Yeah, you could call it that. S'on the corner of Addison." Liam nods, one hand glued to the nape of his neck as he runs shaky fingers up past his scalp and through his messy quiff. 

"A bar's loads different from a diner," Zayn quirks his lip up, lifts his chin to meet Liam's eyes. (milk chocolate with cinnamon brown shavings sprinkled on top.)

"Yeah, I know, I just, m'shit at chatting up about it and it isn't even open and m'still figuring it all out, but if you aren't into karaoke, then you must be into food, right?" Liam wonders, mortified seconds later because- "oh, god. M' mucking this up, I sound so ridiculous. You're human, you're definitely into food." 

Zayn laughs, a quick flick of pink tongue across his lower lip that curls up into a grin. Liam's a nervous, jittery mess and Zayn blames his calm persona on the nicotine. 

"I think m'into food." He answers simply, watches closely when Liam's arms go slack and his shoulders drop into something a lot like relief. 

"That's good," Liam bites at a smile, bows his head just a little, 'Cause it's a diner n'd that's the whole point. But I was wondering if you'd check it out when I've got it open? Or, er-" 

"-I probably sound so desperate, right? I jus', you seem like you could be a proper judge, or like, taste tester." Liam says with a swallowing gulp, "you've got nice music taste, so, maybe?"

 Zayn presses his thumb under his chin, traces the stubble that's beginning to patch in there. 

 _Razors_ , he thinks. Adds on to his mental list of things to pester Louis for. 

"Just so I've got an idea, right?" Liam adds, frantic almost like, ' _fuck me, fuck this, fuck, fuck, fuck-_ '

"Yeah, yeah. S'no problem. Nothing wrong with self promotion, s'cool." Zayn swears, shrugs back and lets his back slump into the bench. Slack muscles that sink into uncomfortable wood. 

"So you could stop by? When I'm open, I mean. If like, er, if you've got-"

"Time?" Zayn finishes and Liam nods, clamps down along his bottom lip. Cola can red with chapped skin blistered along the sides. 

"Yeah, time f'r me karaoke bar." Liam says, comically. Like those two mixed could amount to something silly, but really, Zayn thinks it sort of brilliant. 

There's this sudden kick of hightops against pavement and Zayn's eye divert to the spot beside Liam's leg, a smaller frame pinned there, stuck like glue with outstretched arms.

"S'past six." Colin mumbles. His fingers latched into Liam's leg as he peeks his head around, voice low, groggy with a yawn attached. 

Liam reaches down, ruffles a hand through the kids hair and sweeps his brown locks above his forehead. 

"Tired?" He wonders and the child nods, a candy pink tongue jetting out quickly to wet his dry lips. 

"Well, we'd better go. I, er- I hope you stop by. You can't miss it, corner of-"

"Addison." Zayn fills in the blank, nods with a small grin beginning to tug at his lips, "I won't miss it."

Liam smiles, red, glossed lips that glisten under the sun's rays. Warm coffee brown eyes that pour ruthlessly into Zayn's. Ones that remind him of days off from work. Lazy Sundays with nothing but shaving off morning stubble, kips and movies all day long under some cheap fleece blanket and a pitcher of orange juice tucked into his side and perhaps a few cigs on the roof to ease his mind. 

"Right, see you," Liam nods, Colin tucked into his side as he turns on his heel, feet shuffled together as the two make their way back down the cobbled path, past the willow tree and past the jungle gym. Past the bins and recyclable units until they're barely a memory glazing over like November snow blankets in Zayn's mind. 

He smiles, keeps the image of blushy cheeks and nervous giggles in his head until they haze into nothing but dimmed down cravings. Like he sort of wants a little bit more of that, whatever it is. The buzz in his veins, the loose hang to his eyes. 

Zayn knows it's daft, really, but he sort of can't help it. He hates to think he'll drop this silly encounter like everything else in his life, but there's this nagging difference in the back of his head that startles him, throws him off balance. 

He could go the rest of his life without ever seeing him again. The boy with the neatly styled hair and his son with the matching shoes and knotted flannel tied around his waist. It could be just another one of his odd conversations on an odd day in this odd town in the middle of shit fuck nowhere, but, well-

He has this contingent feeling buried down deep that he'll see them again. 

 

===

 

His apartment isn't quite there yet- but it's coming along. Slowly. 

It was after Waliyah left, after Zayn promised he would get to unloading his necessities. But really it was after he got sick of slipping into sleep on his couch that he decided to finish it all. 

There's pillows in a somewhat neat stack by the kitchen entrance, a pile of linens Zayn's got to wash but probably won't get around to until later that week, a cluttering of kitchen regulars and silverware lined up along the west wall and an old, beat up stereo propped up on one of Zayn's wooden stools he got for cheap at some swap-shop in Bradford. 

There's a light tune playing through it's speakers, a tattered up-beat Kanye song he hums along to as he organizes- or rather mucks around - with his cable box. He's got no fucking clue how to work it, but he's going for it anyway because he isn't hopeless with everything. And he can remember a few faded out words that are stuck to the back of his head.

'If you want to accomplish something, do it.' 

He smiles, sort of shames himself for it because it's so daft, but, well. It's all he's got, really. Simple. Just some saying, or motto, the legendary Yaser Malik would continue to drill into his head, over and over whenever he would have Zayn help him out at the house. 

Just a few words that are a hell of a lot easier said than done.

But fuck it, right? He hasn't got enough salary for an electrician and that's okay. He's got his paints and his mound of pillows and his Yorkshire in the next room over.  

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he can't help but tuck a smirk away into his shoulder when he focuses in on his microphone tatted to his forearm. Blotchy ink with splattered droplets along his skin. He traces it with his opposed thumb, dips into the bumps of his veins and plucks ruthlessly at his bottom lip. 

He wants to sleep. Bury himself away and wake up when he's got it all figured out. 

Not when his memory is indented with brown eyes and something like morning coffee, a shot of creamer, delicate crafted words and everything else that comes to mind when he thinks of him. 

Liam. 

Zayn shakes his head. He won't become infatuated. He'll make a friend, a kind friend with a son who's a bit too concerned of Zayn's physical health when he shouldn't be, but-

Well, nothing. Zayn's just a complete mess and there really isn't anything else to inject into the ' _perhaps_ ' dwindling in his head other than ' _no way, you absolute knob_ ' that his conscious hits him hard with every time his thoughts drift anywhere near green grass, shiny action figures, dipping hands and knotted flannels. 

Zayn isn't planning on much here. 

Here where there are trees, blue skies with not enough smog to make it feel normal. Clean neighborhoods, a few rough patches but not quite enough. It's odd, out of place, new. 

It isn't Bradford. 

 

===

 

And maybe later on that night, once Zayn's settled down, tucked himself away into his uncomfortable sofa with his heap of blankets and mountain of pillows, eyes tracing up and along the cracks in his ceiling, perhaps he slips into sleep with the thought of a particular bloke with a squinted smile and cherry red lips. 

Maybe this could be good. This place. 

Maybe.

 

===

 

"Twenty minutes is  _absolute_  shit, bro. Ask for thirty, or better yet-" Louis puffs along his cigarette, "forty five."

Zayn knocks his head back with a laugh attached, brings his lit cig to his lips and inhales slowly, holds the smoke in his lungs and saviors the mint of nicotine as the smoke curls past his lips like fog, invades the sky and diminishes slowly because oxygen always wins. 

"You're mad if you think m'gonna bargain away a longer break on me second week." Zayn huffs out, amused over the whole idea. 

He's barely hanging onto this job and he's definitely not the best at it. (Not yet, at least) but he refuses to take advantage of his boss and all of the good that comes along with being his helper. 

(Definitely not assistant because Zayn won't ever call it that, it's just- he's a scheduler. That's all.)

"No, you're mad if you don't start searchin' f'r loopholes, man. Harry's a right softy, innhe?" Louis wonders, a cloud of smoke that chases itself along his words and out. 

"Er, heard he's pretty polite. Laid back, y'know. Like us." Zayn compares and ignores the way Louis snickers, rubs a hand from his eyes to his mouth and back around. 

"Like us." He repeats, a shake of his head. 

"Yeah, like us." Zayn nods, blinks in between reality and a daydream as he takes his next drag. 

"You sound like one of those bloody pathetic 'take what ya' can get lads' who are underappreciated and too blind to realize there's  _always_  a better way." Louis predicts, turns himself to face Zayn and flicks loose ash from the end of his fag. 

"Probably 'cause I am." Zayn says, begins to tap out a light rhythm along his work slacks. 

"Bullocks, mate." Louis calls out, his voice loud, striking and Zayn slots out a quick punch to his side. 

"Quiet, twat. You'll get us both busted." Zayn warns, sternly. 

Louis cackles, a cloud of smoke filing past his lips. 

"You're wind like a fuckin' top, Malik. You've got to be on the edge. Live a little. Not coop ya'self up in some box office with a blonde menace and her unhealthy cola addiction." Louis refers to Lou and Zayn thinks about socking him again. 

"You drink just as much cola, don't be insufferable." Zayn huffs, runs a thumb along his coat, brushes off loose ash that fades into the air as it blows. 

"Yeah, yeah. But back massages?" Louis wonders with a lifted brow, "c'mon, bro. S'too much." 

"She's sweet." Zayn defends, pictures an earlier kick back with Lou and her shortcut tips for a new software Zayn was encouraged to download. Some easy fix website he really had no idea how to work. 

"My god, man." Louis slaps a hand to his forehead. "I didn't move all the way out here with ya' to kick back and drink twisted teas." 

Zayn licks a stripe along his bottom lip, rids of the dryness that's so prominent there. He blames it on the changing of the air, or perhaps its the cigarettes and the nicotine in his blood. Drying him out like a towel in the sun. 

"We're young, Z. We've gotta live." Louis drags out, whining. 

"Dunno, m'just keeping it low like." Zayn hums, he doesn't quite know what he means when he says the words. But he does know that there's something more here than just a move. He's getting to a good place. He's growing his legs and he's going to figure it all out before he gets too deep. 

"Dunno is right, seems t' me like you've lost it. This city is changing you." Louis predicts, or rather accuses. Sneers like a teenager when Zayn pinches at his side, a low, scratchy giggle that Zayn tucks his tongue in between his teeth for. 

"Don't say that." Zayn warns, humorously. 

(Although deep down he sort of means it. Sort of hopes that maybe- well, there isn't anything to hope for because he  _hasn't_  changed one bit since the day he settled down  _here_. He swears).

"Yeah, yeah. Ya' just in denial, bro." Louis shrugs, dabs his butt out against stained, brick walls. 

"For?" Zayn asks, arches a brow and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

"For becoming a softy," Louis teases, "s'no big deal. We c'n get ya' a few coronas, couple spliffs. You'll be back t' normal in no time." 

"Terrible," Zayn chews along the inside of his cheek, mutters out a quiet ' _absolute_   _prat_ ' underneath his breath.

"Not terrible, on the ball, mate." Louis holds a finger up, fiddles with his lighter between his palm. 

"Plus, ya' could probably use a night out. A dinner, on me, right? Meet a few lads, birds, dunno what you're into nowadays." Louis scuffs his shoes, worn out vans along chemically stained concrete. Splashes of paints and liquors and everything else that reminds him of Bradford back alley's.

Zayn shakes his head, mutters out a quick "I'd rather sit down with me baba and mum for an hour than a dinner date with you" That Louis scoffs at, offended. 

"You're jus' saying that." He adds on, a predictable eye roll because he's  _so_  famous for those. 

"And don'tcha' have time off? Or is boss-boy keepin' ya 24/7?" Louis wonders, out of the blue. 

"Dunno, m'not like, his slave, Tommo." Zayn squints, he's sure that isn't the case. It's just meeting times, basic math and fast typing fingers. He doesn't mind entirely, though. It's what's better and he was prepared for this even though he hates everything else about this situation. It wasn't as if he thought this process of getting it straight would be simple or easy going, he just hoped. 

"What are ya' then? God, I c'n see this going bad in so many ways. Overworked, not enough sleep, mild depression- oh my god, Zayn. You're going t' have grey hairs by the time yer fuckin' twenty seven!" Louis bellows, dramatically because he's just such a fucking moron. 

Or because Louis Tomlinson is simplistically just a piece of fucking work in general.

Has been since they were 16, young and perhaps a hell of a lot more stupid than they should of been. Too much concealer on their permanent records with one too many trips back and forth to the police station and a countless amount of frowns, disappointed head-shakes from both of their parents. A proper set of trouble-makers with nothing but ' _fucking rebels till the end, right?_ ' signed, engraved into their names. 

But Zayn loves him endlessly and wouldn't make it a day without him and his witty conversation, sick hair and interest for smoking butts out in the alley way beside their work. (Or ust Zayn's work because Louis is bound to be free spirited until the day he dies.)

He'll just never admit that out loud. 

 

===

 

The air is cool, nipping as it brushes over his forearms. He's lacking a jacket and coach transportation because Harry insisted on Zayn partaking in a fashion opinion. A business dinner outfit, like he'd be any help with that and the decision between a red and blue striped tie. 

Typical. 

His feet scuff along the chiseled sidewalk. There are chalk markings, hopscotch outlines across from the many homes that border the streets. He hasn't quite reached his neighborhood and he's still lost somewhere in this bustling town. 

Not exactly lost, he prefers the word exploring over it anyday, but, well-

The sky is threatening, dark clouds and rumbling thunder that booms softly from miles, miles, miles away. A hazy fog that lingers over city rooftops and clings to the trees like dewy spiderwebs stuck between creaky, old window sills. 

Zayn huffs, thinks about calling a cab, or Louis, or perhaps even Lou if she wouldn't mind and nicking a quick ride through town, through the traffic that he'll have to wait to pass by, through Bulwell park with it's sturdy new playground and freshly cut lawns. Just some place simple Zayn's come to appreciate while beginning to become familiar with all of this. He's simply feeling around, getting to know a place he may possibly consider a- 

"Zayn?" 

It's this nearby calling, a questioning tone that rings to and through Zayn's ears like a slowed down Fray tune. Appealing. A voice that Zayn  _shouldn't_   know this easily when heard on the spot but he  _does_  and he doesn't quite know how to feel about that. 

"What are you- not like s'my business, but-" Liam cuts off, approaching him steadily. Some low, mesh athletic shorts and a grey hoodie that's pulled up over his head. Brown quiff tucked back passed the hood and headphones loosely hung around his neck like a collar. 

Zayn doesn't mean to gawk, nor does he mean for his mouth to go cotton dry, swab up like the dessert and have his voice leave him for dead. Like, ' _seeya later, Zayn. Best wishes to you and your hopeless love interest._ ' 

"S'gonna pour, mate. You lost or summat?" Liam wonders, keeps his eyes locked, a pure gaze that has Zayn's jaw slack. 

"Oh, er- no." He stutters, trips up and stumbles over his words because -he's so fucking daft when he isn't expecting company or conversation and-

"Just a stroll by the boutiques?" Liam asks, comically and Zayn tilts his head, reads along the signs littering the shops boarded along the street. 

"Finding a new route home." Zayn nods, set with his decision.

"I could drive?" Liam offers, lifts his chin up and over, seems to search for his car in the sea of parking spaces along the road. Meter after meter. 

"Parked a few blocks down, s'no problem like-" 

"No, no. It's cool. Gotta get used to the place, right?" Zayn swallows, presses his tongue against his teeth and shrugs simply. 

There's  booming in the distance, a beating drum that signals downpour and it's only seconds later, a few quick jolts of lightning and a couple claps of thunder until rain begins to pelt from the sky. A gentle drop here and there at first, but an almost typhoon in a blink and Zayn sputters, baffled as the rain drills down onto him. 

"C'mon, I've got me place a few minutes away." Liam nods, his voice gravely as it tops the violent splat of droplets colliding with concrete. 

Zayn nods, doesn't oblige and follows close behind Liam as he leads them down the sidewalk, whips his head around every few steps just to make sure Zayn's still there. Just to make sure he hasn't ditched him and huddled off somewhere under a banister or taken cover underneath an overhanging roof. 

He's utterly drenched, his clothes saturated by the time they reach Liam's Diner. A broad structure. A decently sized building off the corner of Addison road that sticks out just a little bit next to the vacant properties beside it. 

Liam jiggles the lock, beckons Zayn inward the second he breaks through and clicks the door shut tightly after them. The brutal patter of rain falls silent and it's light taps along the windows, a smudged mess that draws Zayn's vision blurry for only a mere second. 

It's an open room, high, wooden beams lined up along a flattened ceiling. A bar top that glistens under the dimlit lamps stuck here and there. Booth after booth lined up along the wall with a few topless tables because Zayn remembers Liam mentioning 'a work in progress' that first conversation they shared in the park. There's straw dispensers, napkin holders and stools without cushions buttoned on just yet. A construction sight, Zayn thinks as he glances around. This metro sort of feel to the place, classical like the 80's, only with a twist of current events. 

There's a sort of rise at the far end, a microphone stand without a microphone and a few speakers lined up along the wall. 

 _Karaoke_ , Zayn thinks, comically and wipes his palm along the soaked denim plastered to his legs. 

"Mad innit?" Liam wonders, flicks the light switch on and sways, drenched by the door, "the weather, I mean." 

"Yeah, s'mental." Zayn mumbles, drags his eyes around and rakes a hand through his fucked hair, soaked, dripping in front of his eyes and down his cheeks. 

 _Not melting_ , he reminds himself with a grin, a shiver accompanied and Liam's lips part suddenly, "fuck, I like, I have extra clothes. You're probably freezing, right?" 

Zayn stays quiet, nods and turns to face Liam when he dodges, spins around quickly. 

"C'mon, I'll show you around." 

 

===

 

It's not exactly a large flat, or just a flat by definition. But it's fitting, cozy like. 

Some creaky staircase lead from the kitchen downstairs up and into a loft. A large bay window that looks out and over the cobbled street below. A couch with a few scratch marks along the side that has Zayn taking a second glance. Matching pillows to go with the indigo outline. A coffee table, cluttered with magazines and porcelain mugs. A guitar in the corner with a wilting plant right beside. Not quite dead, not quite alive, Zayn takes a guess, traces the floorboards and wonders what's left. What's down the hall or around the corner.

His fingers tap along his sides, trace small patterns into the denim of his ripped skinnies and he absorbs the warmth of this place easily. And it's sort of odd, or maybe it's  _a lot_  odd how he loves this room. The high beams, the small telly pressed down atop a shelf beside the plants. The way everything fits so neatly. In place like a puzzle. 

There's this smell like vanilla, cheap ginger cologne in the air but it's so welcoming and Zayn can't help the fact he sort of already loves it. This scent that reminds him of his father's, a spritz here and there before big family dinners. A pass down that Zayn took for granted many years later, a rambunctious teen that was too cool for cheap fragrances no matter how valid the meaning. 

He stands there, shifting oddly between his feet as Liam digs through a pile of sweats, joggers, shirt after shirt. 

There's this sudden nudge to his leg and he bows his head to meet the cause of disruption. 

It's a pup, surprisingly enough. Brown eyes wide as they blink curiously up at him. A pink tongue curling up and back around his mouth. Short whiskers and black and white fur that spikes in all directions. 

"S'Loki, he's a friendly little fella. Swear it." Liam seems to take notice, tosses a sweatshirt over quickly and Zayn jets out a hand to catch it. The dog yelps at the action and Zayn stutters when he begins to paw at his shin. Frantic slipped paws and small whimpers. 

"Down, boy." Liam orders softly from his spot a few feet away and Zayn watches as he selects a sweatshirt, slides a hand up behind his own and slicks it off, a quick blur of abdomen and tan skin that Zayn gulps at. A light trail of hair that patches down, down, down under his elastic short's line. 

And-  _fuck_. 

Zayn shakes his head loose from a sticky glare, shoots the image of Liam a soaking wet, naked mess down immediately ( _because that's so fucking mental to think about, get a grip, Zayn_ ) and turns his attention to the fabric he has laid out in his own hands. He pulls it over his head quickly, blinks a few times to shed the frizz stuck to his eyelashes and adjusts the material to his finest ability. 

It's large on his torso, a cotton sort of material that doesn't quite cling to his skin, but hovers loosely. Zayn traces the small logo printed along his chest, 'Nottingham Soldiers.' Fiddles with the fray's along his sleeve and drops his eyes when he feels another nudge to his leg. Loki's there, brown eyes blown up as he tosses about. 

"Used to play footy on a team, n'd the coach went all out." Liam explains as he rummages through a pile of shirts, sweats, joggers. His hands searching for something he can wear.

"What position?" Zayn asks, runs his finger along the adjustment rope hanging from his neck. The words 'Nottingham Soldiers' printed in the right hand corner of his chest. 

"Goalie," Liam replies, amused. "Daft, right?" 

"No, not at all. M'not a footy expert, but my best mate used to play." Zayn replies. A memory of hazy skies the color of early Autumn and a flickering ember between him and Louis, sprawled out in the middle of the footy field with not a care in the world between the both of them. 

"S'cool," Liam nods, runs a finger along his arm, seems to trace a blotch of ink that Zayn can't quite make out from where he's stood, but-

There's this sudden pad of feet against floor, a blurred flash of a smaller figure that catches Zayn's attention and he lifts his head slowly. 

It's Colin, his hair a matted mess, swept up curls along his forehead, eyes drooping sleepily with a doll clutched to his chest.  _Woody_ , Zayn thinks, humorously, keeps his eyes on the kid and the way his stomach is rising and falling at a fast pace. It always seems to be, something like trampoline springs as they jet up and down. Frantic. 

"Hey, babe." Liam welcomes, open arms as his son pads along the living room carpet, bare feet sinking into thick spongy material all the way until he's stuffed himself against Liam's leg. 

"Sleep well?" Liam hums, one hand lost in the mass of brown curls that makes up his kids hair, a pout to his lips when he shakes his head back and forth. 

Liam drags his eyes up and over, and Zayn sort of hates how he feels like he's intruding. Like he's a complete stranger in this home and Liam shouldn't have invited him in and he should have just minded his own business, or had his beats in when he found him, tunes blasted to full and just kept on walking. 

"This is Zayn, Col." Liam whispers, his tone hushed and his eyes soft as they search for his sons, "the lad from the park?"

Colin turns his head, curious glances back and forth from his father to Zayn and-

"Hi." Zayn mumbles, quietly. 

Mostly because he's absolute shit with confrontation. And kids aren't exactly his specialty when they're close to mute and glaring him up and down, left and right and every which way. He feels like he's being scanned, scanned and approved. Or disapproved, the boy doesn't look too impressed and maybe Zayn panics a little bit. 

There's no response after a silent minute, just a kept gaze, a lingering stare that's a bit off, poisoned with sleep and exhaustion. 

Then it's over just as quickly as it began. The child's off, one hand rubbing at his eyes while the other clutches the doll to his chest tightly. Pajamas Toy Story themed, Zayn notices just as the kid wanders off down the hall, out of sight, like he was never there. 

"He's er-" Liam begins, slowly. 

"It's cool, I get it. Shy?" Zayn offers and shrugs when Liam nods. 

"He has his good days." Liam says, this hint of  _something else_  in his words. Like he means more than he leads on. More than he reveals, but Zayn just takes it how it is because he's never been the pushy type. 

The silence is incredible afterwards, this deafening lack of conversation accompanied by the light pitter-patter of rain along the roof top. Steady droplets trickling down the window pane and off into the gutter. 

"Thirsty?" Liam wonders suddenly and Zayn perks his head up, "I've got tea, cola, corona, whatever your prefer, I s'pose." 

Zayn can't help but lift his lip up, tuck a smirk away into his smile and nod his head slowly, "corona?" 

"Oh God, I didn't mean like, I just didn't know if you prefer a little buzz and, no, like-" Liam begins to explain, expression dropped, worry stained into his eyes like he's just crossed some sort of invisible boundary and there's no going back. And Zayn decides that he likes that about Liam. Clumsy. 

"Tea, mate. S'fine." Zayn bites along the inside of his cheek. He won't laugh at him. 

"Yeah? I've got loads, cinnamon, green, or if you fancy fruity I've got clementine, tangerine, lemon." Liam lists, pads forward, down the hall and Zayn follows, slowly. Close behind because he won't be a lingering lunatic. 

"Cranberry," Liam adds, leads them into an open kitchen, white tile, blue rimmed walls with a wooden counter top. Flowers to center it all off because Liam seems like that sort of lad, fresh daisies to really top it all off. It's a spotless area, pans stored, hung up along the rack and left to dry. Shining tables and stools with cushions. 

"Surprise me." Zayn tugs at a smirk, clamps down along his bottom lip and drags it full around. 

Liam nods and Zayn traces his finger along the island, splintered wood and a clay sculpture, small, oddly shaped and dented, but Zayn can just barely make out the letters 'CP' carved into the side. 

He sniffs, his smile tilting as he watches Liam fill the kettle, slide it onto the stove and spin the heat adjuster. Two mugs set down along the table.

"So you're new to town?" Liam wonders, leans along his elbows, eyes like dark cinnamon and buckeyes. 

"Yeah," Zayn replies, taps his fingers together and thins out his lips. 

"From?" Liam asks, lips parted afterwards because, "oh, if you're like- if you don't mind me asking? Just curious." 

Zayn snorts, finds it funny how cautious he is, "Bradford," he answers, hates the way the word sounds so acidic rolling off of his tongue. Swallows down the memories that come along with the name. 

"Big city, right." Liam nods and Zayn mimics the motion, jumps only lightly when the kettle begins to whistle and Liam's off, pouring, filling the cups with steaming hot tea. 

Zayn traces his finger along the handle when Liam slides the mug across to him, mutters out a quiet 'thanks' and crinkles his nose at the rise of Lemon fumes and something like sugar.

"I went with Lemon, s'my favorite." Liam says, his voice sweet, flowing like honey as he raises the brim to his lips and slurps along the edge. A careful tongue as it laps along the steaming beverage. 

Zayn shrugs, keeps the cup warm in his palms and sinks into the stool, "you're from here originally?" He wonders, watches Liam when he shakes his head. 

"A little town West of here. Twenty minutes like, not far at all." Liam replies, laughs under his breath when Zayn takes his first sip of tea. The lemon flavor washes through his mouth and it isn't terrible. 

"Good?" Liam wonders, softly. 

"Yeah," Zayn smiles, cocking his head. 

"So you're into the whole cooking thing, then?" He wonders, only because he's sort of fascinated now. 

(Reeled in by pure interest- 

-and maybe a little bit more.)

"Yeah, I've always been into it, I guess. Bakin' cookies and sweets with me mum since I was a little lad." Liam reveals, smiles into his next sip and Zayn sort of likes the image he paints into his head next. A small, raggedy haired Liam with a 'kiss the cook' apron stuck to his chest and smack to his wrist every now and then from his mum because he can't quite keep the brownie batter away from his lips. 

"Never really went to school to study it or anything. Studied at uni for a while, though. Music technology, it was like a-" He cuts off, seems to search his mouth for the right word and Zayn sits up. 

"Phase?" He offers and Liam nods. 

"Yeah, that. Dead end nonetheless."

Zayn bites at a comical grin before, "so the karaoke was just of sentimental value?"

"Nah, man. Think it adds some spark, f'r nights when we've got talent in town?" Liam says, question in his voice, "everyone loves live music, mate."

Zayn nods, fair enough, "so you're winging the whole chef act?" 

Liam swallows, presses fingers along the edge of the countertop before speaking, "Oi, I took some cooking classes around here. Paid off a little, I hope, right?" He chuckles, low, "plus I've got meself a decent staff, so it'd be a shame if all this work went to dust the second I open the doors." 

Zayn shifts back into his seat and keeps his eyes soaked into the steaming beverage below him. Sizzling fingertips as they brush along the stifling porcelain. 

"I think it'll be fine." Zayn says, softly. 

"I hope you're right." Liam mumbles, sets his mug down along the counter.

"Think you could just use some help with the color scheme, mate." Zayn says, drags his eyes along the way the counter sparkles with cleanliness, "from what I saw, I mean."

"Think so? Me mates say I've got the right idea, blue on white, silver on a darker shade of blue, right?" Liam wonders, rolls his tongue back and plants his palm back to his mug. 

"Nah, man. Red. Classical diner, right?" Zayn says with question, soaks up the way Liam's eyes crinkle to a pinch, the way his cheeks lifts and his lips part, a sort of chuckle like 'right, right,' brisking past his lips still stained with lemon tea.  

Zayn quirks his mouth, bites along the inside of his lip and tries to hold down the question he wants to ask. It's simmering in his throat and he knows there's a reason behind it. He just can't exactly-

"So you moved here for-" Zayn spills, cuts off, hopes Liam will fill in the void. 

He stays quiet, bows his head and presses his thumb into the side of his mug, slow circles.  "Colin, fresh air. A clean start." 

Zayn parts his lips, a quick flick of his tongue that swipes along his bottom and slips back behind white stained pearls. Liam's words sink into his head, set up camp and linger until he can't analyze them any longer. 

"He needed a better life, I needed a place to start over." Liam summarizes, briefly. Hums out a quick 'c'mere' to Loki who's just padded into the kitchen, curious whimpers and exploring brown eyes as they scan out the scene in front of them. 

"We're all just looking for that place to call-"

"Home?" Zayn offers, mutters a quiet 'sorry' into his next sip but Liam just nods his head, grinning. 

"Yeah, guess that's it."

"Makes sense." Zayn nods, blinks and attempts to mask the frivolous smile that he somehow always manages to stir up whenever Liam speaks. A chain reaction of his body turning on him. How brilliant. 

"Didn't want to go, but s'like- it's for  _him_." Liam mumbles into his mug, keeps his eyes down, "he needed it."

He smooths a smile out over his lips and laughs lightly in between his words, "S'funny, his mum would applaud me f'r doing something right." 

Zayn furrows his eyebrows, frowns, two and two together before, "is she-" He swallows down the sticky question bubbling up his throat because-  _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , never mind. 

"She's, er, not around?" Liam offers, squints like he isn't exactly sure but Zayn picks up the hint, smooths out his lips and sinks his eyes into his steaming tea. 

And it's sudden when Liam speaks next, lifts his chin and drags his tongue back to speak. 

"More about you, though. This has turned into like, a therapy session." He laughs, a lifted smile, a new mood with glistened lips, "tell me something about you? Dunno how this works, uh. Something odd, random, out there?" 

Zayn snorts, taken back because he never really gets asked these sorts of things. Never really has proper time to come up with a list of fun facts because he isn't all that fun. He's average. Just your average bloke, with an average job in an average city. 

But he takes in a deep breath, sits up so he can lean in on his elbows and drags his brain for the littlest bit of  _anything_  he can come up with. Something. 

"M'into SyFy films, I know they're complete shit and most of them are the lowest of low budget films out there, but I live for 'em anyway. I detest red gummy bears and me favorite color is green." He rushes out, smirks at the reaction Liam coaxes up and bites down a blush when he begins to clap his hands together- the fucking moron. 

"Ace performance, mate. Really." Liam shakes his head, amused. 

"Shut it, s'all I've got." Zayn presses his lips together, sighs into a low giggle when Liam begins to tease him over the SyFy films and how television has taken modern movies to the trash bin. 

"But I've got no room to talk considering m'still up every night reading comics to Col, and, well." Liam cuts off, shoo's away Loki when he hops up onto the stool beside Zayn, a whipping tail as he growls and then nudges his nose along Zayn's arm. Marks up Liam's sweatshirt with a wet kisses and slobbering nibbles.

"He's a terror when he's hungry, m'bad," Liam apologies, sets his cup down and Zayn follows the stream of invisible steam rising into the air, stirring up, up, up.

Zayn chews on his lip as he watches him coax the pup away, over to the food trays and water bowl with a bag of kibble and treats sacked beside them. A proper struggle he has that makes Zayn shovel a giggle away into his palm, a few spilt dog bits that Loki scarfs down easily and has Liam a bit panicked because apparently the dog's on a diet and-

It's so incredibly daft, all of this. The way Zayn swore he would never drink citrus flavored teas because they make him feel frilly in all of the worst definitions. The way he swore he wouldn't trouble anyone but himself and perhaps Louis because all of this is just so indefinite. He's still figuring it out. Nothing's for sure. 

Not like it ever is in Zayn's world, but, well. 

He sort of hopes that can change one day. 

Not  _now_ , or tomorrow, but one day. 

 

===

 

There's a slight drizzle along Liam's windshield. An old ford truck because he's  _just that classical_  and a light beat of Justin Timberlake playing softly through the radio. An accompanying tune for drizzly nights like tonight. The air is cool as it dips through the cracked window, skipping along Zayn's skin like cool mist in the Spring. He's strapped up in the front seat with Liam beside him, humming along to the tune and tapping his fingers lightly along his wheel. A tight grip every now and then when some absolute prick forgets to flick on their blinker, but-

(Zayn sort of likes the way Liam bites his tongue at sticky situations, holds down everything bad he wants to say because he's simply too good for the world.)

(Or, no, fuck, he's just a nice guy. Good intentions and all that).

There's lights from the city blaring on either side of them, gravelly pavement that Zayn follows with his eyes, traces patterns in the trees that hang low over the road ahead. 

Colin is tucked away into the backseat, kipping with one of Liam's jackets draped over him like a blanket. A shield from the cool air blowing in and out through the front windows. And it's sort of a gorgeous scene, the way loose curls string down loosely over closed eyes. Something Zayn catches himself glancing into the mirror too often at, pulling himself away from the view once the car comes to a stop and he can recognize the buildings lined up on his side. 

"Alright?" Liam wonders, shifts his gears into park and drops his eyes to follow Zayn's hands as they lift to open the passenger door. 

"Yeah, s'good. Thanks." He mutters, quietly. 

"Of course, uh, maybe next time it could be a proper date, y'know?" Liam drops a hint (only it isn't really a hint by definition because he's so fucking obvious but-

Maybe Zayn sort of likes that.)

He smiles, tucks it away before climbing out of the truck, his feet slapping against damp pavement as he gains his balance. Clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth to mask a laugh because Liam's just  _so_  dopey and this situation is just  _so_  clumsy and Zayn isn't used to awkwardly fitting conversations and handsome, persistent lads like Liam. 

"We'll see." Zayn presses his lips together, keeps a humorous gaze on Liam as he lingers by the open window. 

"C'n I-" Liam drops his sentence, laughs, then picks it up again, "can I at least have your mobile, then?"

Zayn grins, baffled like as he shoves a hand into his jeans pocket, fumbles around with his device and grasps it between his fingertips, handing it over past the window and to Liam directly. 

"Fittin' t' rob me now, eh?" He asks, teases mostly because it's how he deals with awkward situations like ' _oh, hand me your phone so I can add in my number, stranger._ ' 

"'Course not, my god." Liam chuckles, low, a strummed up beat that sends this wave of  _something_ through Zayn's blood. 

It isn't familiar, it's foreign and new and-  _woah_. 

Liam's fingers are nimble, quick as they tap out 9 digits, a smile hung off of it all as he hands back the cell phone, "just in case." 

"Of?" Zayn wonders, slips his mobile away and into his pocket as he rocks back on his heels, pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth to keep a straight face. 

"Like- in case you want to go out? I dunno, I mean if you're into that, lads n'd what not- I probably sound so daft, right? But like-" Liam trails off, drops his eyes and runs his thumbnail underneath his lip, nervously. Traces the stubble that's so lightly pricked there, along his jaw and outlines up his cheeks. 

"-M'sorry, I'm shit at chatting up blokes I fancy and, well." 

Zayn takes a minute to respond, or actually, he doesn't. Instead he backs up, keeps his eyes fixed on Liam's truck and repeats the words in his head. ' _Blokes I fancy, blokes I fancy, blokes I fancy_ ' until they sound like gibberish to his brain. He swallows, waits until Liam pouts, defeated, begins to roll the window's half way up before-

"I think I'd be into that."

It's a quick flash of a smile that he almost misses when Liam starts his engine, a roaring, a cough of charcoal smoke that puffs into the air from his exhaust and trails behind him all the way down the busy street. Away, away, away. 

But not forever. 

 

===

 

"Y'know," Louis kicks his ratty vans up along Zayn's desk, pinches his eyes together into a suint, "He could be a sugar daddy," he chases out a laugh with a cough to follow. 

"But like,  _literally_." He adds and Zayn scoffs, swats his hand over his keyboard to tap Louis' shoe. 

"Shove off it," Zayn shakes his head, disgusted, "I think it's sorta, er-"

"Odd?" Louis offers and Zayn shoots him a look.

"Pleasant?" He finishes, unsure. It's this odd emotion he feels whenever he thinks about it. Or Liam. This new feeling that comes along with dark brown quiffs and light, milky eyes. A lad with a son. A boy. 

"What in the fuck are you smoking?" Louis buzzes to life, tosses his head back for a laugh and slumps his shoulders.

"Since when does Zayn Malik find children of any shape or size  _pleasant_." Louis wonders, sarcastically. Has this offensive tone like this is effecting him if whatever Zayn's feeling in his stomach ever decides to surface and- fuck, he's so predictable.

Zayn rolls his eyes back, knocks his head against tight leather lightly and hums around his tongue that he has pinched between his lips. He keeps his eyes on the screen directly in front of him. This endless fuzz of computer graphics that seems to be sucking him further into a blind eye. He knows the constant glow of screen is probably worse for him than quick nicotine lips in the alley way outside, but. 

"I'll tell ya' when." Lou rushes in just then, heels clicking along tile and marking up spots along the floor. "It's when he moved out here to this darling town, got his conscious flowing." 

Zayn smiles at the sound of her voice, tilts his head to hide from Louis when she adds in a quick, " _properly._ "

"My god, d'ya ever have different breaks? I thought she was on break, Z. What happened t' that?" Louis wonders, pissed. And Zayn ducks his head, smooths a finger over the cuffs of his work shirt and shoots Louis a warning glare when he catches him flip his middle up out of the corner of his eye. 

"A proper assistant's work is never done." Lou beams, turns on her heel with crossed arms and a look that could kick anyones arse. "What do you do again, Tomlinson?" 

Louis scoffs, defeated as he slumps back in his chair and Zayn turns to smile at her when he's sure Louis has clocked into a groan bearing mess. Like usual. 

"Exactly." 

Louis lifts his head, pinches his eyes together and slots his lips closed. He's got this half pissed, half devilish grin plastered to his lips and Zayn relates the look back to late nights in a town he once knew. No good plans by yours truly and a few, or perhaps many trips to the police station later because those badass plans were never quite good enough. 

"Back to your mystery lad, eh?" Louis says, finally. Mischievous by definition, he is. 

Zayn groans, manages to shake his head back and forth before dipping to hide from Louis' ray of vision behind his computer. He won't talk about him here. He may be strapping and handsome and sappy in all of the best definitions but he isn't even  _anything_. 

(Yet.)

"Is he fit? Suave? He isn't old, is he? Like he's still young n'd-"

"Pin it." Zayn begs, runs fingers through his inky, shagged, fucked hair and settles back, compressed. 

"M'just curious who me best mate is shagging." Louis lifts a brow and Zayn can hear Lou gasp out from behind him. 

"Zayn Malik, you-"

"We haven't, I haven't-" He sputters, desperate, cheeks hot because- bloody fuck, he's fucking thought about it, how could he not? But Liam's just- 

There's something like a sigh from behind him, a relieved ' _my goodness_ ' that slips Lou's lips and has him ready to call it a day. 

It isn't like this job is exhausting. It's the polar opposite. Laid back just like Harry, although Zayn's yet to have a full conversation with the lad. Too busy, says Lou and he keeps mostly to himself according to Julia from down the hall. Not like it matters, really, because Zayn's sort of always flown under the radar. 

(Or maybe that's a complete lie because as a teen in Bradford you can't exactly stay out of trouble.)

"Well, ya' better hit it good when ya' do." Louis nods and Zayn can hear Lou scoff from behind him. 

"Terrible." She huffs, sickened. 

"Not terrible, darling. Realistic." Louis corrects with one finger stiff in the air. 

"He isn't like- it isn't like that." Zayn chews along the inside of his cheek, bows his head to mask his feverishly hot cheeks and fiddles with his fingers. Picks along a hang nail and swallows down every bit of embarrassment he has held in his throat, allows it to pool in his lungs like toxic gas. 

Liam's a lad Zayn's merely speaking to. A new mate. A bloke who's got a daft interest in superheroes and comics (maybe Zayn's sort of in love with that), a cozy loft just above his dream diner, a talent that's above and beyond and a mystery of a son. 

"Well," Lou clears her throat, and Zayn can feel gentle fingers trail along his arm, pinch at his shoulder and draw back quickly, "when do we get t' meet him, eh?" 

"Yeah, I'd like to meet the lad who's makin' ya' blush funny." Louis perks his chin, sits up straight and kicks his feet down from Zayn's desk. Thankfully enough, the absolute plonker. 

Zayn just grumbles, shakes away a smile and taps his index along dented, inky smudged keys. A color like midnight and husky stained leather. 

"Never."

 

===

 

The night brings amber castings, pitch black clouds that linger over dying skies. The sun has long since set and there's nothing but an indigo canvas hanging above shadowed trees and filled in building tops. It's just the quiet of the night and the chill of an open window that Zayn hasn't gotten around to closing. Honking and beeping from the street below due to some late night wedding at a chapel down the block. 

He sighs, exhausted, kicks his shoes off and corners them against the couch, slips himself down along the leather of his sofa and blinks absentmindedly at the ceiling. 

There's this feeling of loneliness that plagues him, stirs his stomach and makes him wish he could cook. Or afford real, natural foods instead of microwave meals and kid cuisines, but he simply can't purchase plush luxuries on his salary. It's all okay, though. He's patient for once in his life and it's sort of refreshing to think that perhaps this could all amount to something. This shit box town in the middle of the UK with a short walk distance anywhere and boutiques Zayn knows his mum would absolutely die for. 

(Not like she'd muck about for long here in this place, but it's a reminiscing Zayn needs at times like these.)

The stereo is drumming out some beat that he can't quite recognize. A humming tune that he's sort of already in love with, listening in for the next line until his mobile buzzes to life on the coffee table beside him.

His eyes divert, lazily, fingers stretch across an open gap and collect the device in one quick swipe. 

There's a minute before his eyes can adjust properly, the way his pupils scream at the light bouncing off of his screen, but Zayn swipes his thumb across, his brow lifting when the message reads 'Liam :)))'

Zayn rolls his eyes.  _Ridiculous_ , he thinks. The smiley faces loaded onto the contact name like exclamation points only they aren't and he can already tell Liam's that kind of texter. Peppy, long drawn out syllables that are pointlessly dramatic, but. 

He takes a quick breath before opening the highlighted box and tapping along the message bubble present there. 

_-couldn't sleeeep , thought u would be up am i right???!  -Li_

Zayn blinks, packs a smile away with pursed lips as he thumbs out a response. 

_-You read me correctly, professor X._

He sighs, thinks it sort of funny how Liam signs his texts like postcards. Traces his eyes along the message for a long time, pictures Liam set up in his bed, eyes perched into a squint with restless breaths due to lack of sleep and a tilted grin everytime he hits the wrong button or misspells a word because  _his grammar_   _is horrific_. 

Zayn frowns after a minute- or maybe it's two. He flips his mobile around between his fingers and waits for a response that doesn't come. He keeps the hope that perhaps exhaustion won this round for Liam until-

He taps away at his phone code, squints at the picture message blurring across his screen. 

Some bedroom wall, painted baby blue, or perhaps it's torquise with the shit lighting he's provided, but, well. There's a poster, thin paper taped along the wall and Zayn brings the screen closer to observe the details. Marvel comic themed with dead center Professor X, cartoon animated with bright colors and popping words. 

Zayn snorts, amused. Crooks his head to the left to rest his head and types out a quick-

- _Poster's sick, mate, guessing it isn't the kid's?_

It's seconds before his screen lights up once more and Zayn chews along his lower lip as he reads the response out in his head. Over and over.

- _got me! aha, proper freak for that shit man :)))_

Zayn smirks, shuffles himself to get properly comfortable and buries his shoulders along the cushions of his sofa. It isn't exactly comfortable yet, but it's getting there. He sniffs, something like dust and leather that seeps through his senses. 

His fingers are quick as they type out a response, jittery thumbs back and forth across the keyboard like kids playing hopscotch by the park. 

- _Bet you could make a sick superhero, might as well quit the cookin now, eh? Ahaaa xx_

Zayn swallows, fights the urge to apologize because he's a wreck when he's nervous and waits until-

His eyes scan over the message beeping along his screen, a picture's attached to it and Zayn holds his breath when he thumbs his finger across. 

There's a picture of Liam, bottom lip popped out and his eyes focused in on the camera. The image is dark, shit lighting and he can barely make it all out even when he flicks his brightness up, but it still has him uncomfortable downstairs. It's way too close, or maybe it isn't. And Zayn can feel his lungs compress as he sinks into his couch cushions. 

_Fuck._

His eyes scan over the message and he swears his bottom lip is chewn bloody by the time he finishes it. 

- _dont think i'm fit enough to be a superhero, mate , although i could use a gym partner ?? ;)))_

Zayn's lips part, his cock twitches inside of his joggers when he pictures it all in his head. Liam, a sweaty, huffing mess as he pushes himself up from a sticky mat at his local gym. 

 _Double fuck._  

He breathes, steady, thinks about replying before-

- _too soon? sorry !!!_

He laughs, low, drawn out beats that echo through the living room. They outdo the light melody of ' _Let me take your heart Love you in the dark, No one has to see_ ' that plays softly throughout Zayn's living room, drawing his eyelids heavy and slowing down his jittery fingertips as they type out a final message. 

- _Goodnight, Liam. xx_

===

 

Zayn coughs into his elbow, squints at the screen of his computer. Pixels lining up into some illusion of dribbling words, spilling, dripping down his screen. He could use a booster, one of Lou's energy cola's she keeps stored away in her space. Some hidden cranny she keeps guarded with threatening signs and he knows he can't slip one because she'll definitely notice, but. 

Everything's beginning to blur and Zayn's pretty sure, no, he's positive Harry's left over an hour ago. Leaving Zayn nothing but a list of directions to plan the upcoming sponsorship dinner that's been dumped on his shoulders. 

He yawns, his fingers soar as they tap away a few extra bullets. Frilly napkins with logo prints, chilled champagne and a music set-list that's got to be " _off the fuckin' walls, mate_ " according to Louis who's disappeared off to the Loo. And perhaps Zayn's even due to finish early if Elizabeth from down the hall holds out on her bargain to organize the outfit plans. 

It's half past nine and he was supposed to be out. Dinner plans with his sister and Louis because he insisted on Zayn getting out of his cubicle and or apartment. 

And it isn't his fault he spends the majority of his time cooped up in the two places, he's just trying really fucking hard to get somewhere. Good things come to those who are patient, he repeats over and over until his brain curses at him and shuts down completely. 

Almost completely.

His mobile buzzes in his pocket and maybe his nerves jolt back to life at the screening of 'Liam' that flashes across lit glass. He slides his thumb across the thin screen and smiles a drowsy smile at the message stuck there. 

- _dinner tomorrow night? i could cook for yah ?? -Li_

There's this burn, sizzle of something deep in his stomach that Zayn blames on cheap take out and flat cola, but he knows that it's something more. Although it's odd, really. Just a few weeks of this. Back and forth silly messages and a few put off dates that Zayn's gotten too ace at avoiding. 

(It isn't Liam he's avoiding, truthfully, it's nothing to do with him, it's just- well, fuck it's hard for him to associate with anyone besides Louis or his sister or Lou and-) 

He shovels away his doubt with a shake of his head, thumbs tapping furiously across his keypad, a halfway message before-

"Did ya' know that the loo's here have automatic flushers?" Louis wonders, perkily. sways forward, plops himself down in Lou's chair. 

"'Cause, like- I'll admit I fuckin' yelped when the thing started gurgling beneath me." He laughs and Zayn shoves his mobile into his pocket, hopes his cheeks aren't crimson and burning. 

"Woah-" Louis' eyes widen and Zayn's heart pounds in his chest because, fuck, is he that obvious? "Ya' look completely drained, bro. You've got to call it quits for the night."

Zayn sighs, runs fingers along his jaw and up past his eyes. His skin is rough and he sinks into his own touch, draws back only when he feels a kick to his desk leg. 

"Oi, shove off. I've gotta get it done." He yelps, blinks away the gloss in his eyes from a previous yawn. 

"You're overworking yourself, man. Seriously." Louis warns, slumps back into Lou's chair and spins with his head up to the ceiling. 

"I've got to work up to it all,  like, build my value." Zayn mutters, eyes fixed on the countless amount of drabbles held on his page. 

"Build your value? Are you fuckin' mad? Z, you're like the most valued lad I know." Louis chimes. He's trying to be helpful, reassuring and Zayn see's it clear as day but it isn't quite enough. 

"M'sure that-"

It's this buzz, ring in his pocket that draws Louis' eyes into a squint. Zayn gulps, palms at his mobile nearly burning a hole through his slacks pocket and- fucking busted. 

"Who's that?" Louis wonders, suspiciously. Presses his bottom lip to his top and scoots closer. 

"Er, Wali." Zayn answers quickly before he can think, drums out a steady (or more so chaotic) beat along his thigh, traces the outline of his cell in his pocket and bites along his lower lip. 

"Bet she's properly pissed about her dinner plans, eh? You with your head up your bosses ars-"

"Bugger off. He's a nice guy, just' overly busy s'all." Zayn swears, shrugs it off because he doesn't quite understand it all just yet, but he hopes to. 

Hopes to understand why he's asked to pointless tasks at the most ridiculous of hours with a sort of almost definite ridiculous salary. (But he isn't complaining) Not yet, no. It's just he's sort of drained. He's tired, barely enough time for an afternoon kip now with all of the rearrangements and that's just traumatizing for him, scary like. 

"Yeah, yeah. S'whatever, mate." Louis rolls his eyes, quirks his lips into this crooked frown. "Just wish ya' would live a little." 

"Tried that." Zayn replies simply as Louis stands to his feet, shoves one hand into his pocket and slumps all the way to the door. 

"Eh, second times a charm?" Louis wonders from his spot and Zayn lifts his chin, shrugs with a bit of a frown beginning to pull at his lips. 

"Don't think so."

"Well, call me when your job isn't such a life or death balance, mate." Louis bites at a frown, shoves his jacket under his arm and shuffles out past Zayn's walls, down the hall and towards the lift.

Zayn pouts, sticks his bottom lip out and goes slack, molds himself into the fake leather of his chair. He can hear the ding of the elevator, the pause of footsteps before- 

"I still love ya' though!" Louis shouts and Zayn smirks, sits up and waits until the place goes bitterly silent. 

And it's only then that he slips his hand into his pocket, palms his mobile and taps out a quick response to Liam.  

- _Think I'd be into that._

_===_

It's something odd, familiar but odd. Carpenter supplies, loose nails and floorboards all shoveled to one side of the diner. A scent like roses in the air, only Zayn sort of has a feeling it's air freshener. There's string lights webbed around loose drape hangers and twisted all around the jacket perches. A web of sparkling stars that Zayn sort of gawks at. 

He shovels his hands into his jacket pockets and sways by the entrance, a clattering of pans towards the back of the kitchen, through closed doors and cut out delivery windows. There are hushed voices, whispering shouts that echo along the air.

Zayn coughs, buries his nose into his elbow and steps forward. The floor crinkles beneath him and he can just make out the wrinkled waves of a plastic tapestry. Truly a work in progress. 

"You're a fuckin' wreck mate, just like-  _relax_ , bro." 

There's this voice, a muffled accent that bounces out of nowhere and catches Zayn's attention. He purses his lips, arches a brow and leans back on the balls of his feet. 

"M'fine, just hot?" 

It's Liam. Zayn can recognize the uneasiness to his voice and the way his accent is so deeply Britain. A proper citizen of the United Kingdom. 

There's a shuffle of footsteps and Zayn can barely make out the two figures swaying at the less lit side of the diner. The two move forward, nearly attached at the hip, back and forth muttering that Zayn can't really make out because there's commotion in the kitchen as well and-

"Zayn?" 

His eyes shoot up, busted. And it's sort of odd because he's never exactly early, he just sort of thought that he might as well because he's gotten out from working a later shift and the coach doesn't exactly mold into his schedule, but he's discovered through certain circumstances everything in this town is close, close, close. 

"Yeah," he mumbles, quietly. 

"Didn't expect you to be early, m'just trying to clean up a little bit more." Liam nods, tone soft like. And Zayn's eyes drop, or rather fall lightly at his attire. Blue button up, rolled past his elbows with thick cuffs. A pair of washed out jeans that cling to his legs. Not as tightly as Louis' but it's pretty damn close. A pair of scuffed up Timberlands that Zayn can remember spotting on the shoe rack that one drizzly night a few weeks back. 

His chin is shaved, fresh, smooth and Zayn runs a thumb up along his prickly jaw out of comparison. Well, fuck. 

"He's a terrible liar, my god." The lad beside him chimes. Hair a ferocious mess, striking up like lightning bolts in mid October. Cheeks a light crimson color as he shakes his head, amused. His voice something- Irish? Zayn's proper shit at recognition. 

"M'not lying, I was planning on it." Liam defends, turns back to Zayn with a sincere expression, "I really was." 

"Whatever, Payno. You've been bitchin' about the chicken for the past twenty minutes, so m'not too sure you would have had time to manage." The boy with the dandelion hair chuckles, his hands streaking patterns along his snowflake white apron, "plus, this place is an absolute dump, you've got loads to-"

"Would you pin it?" Liam snaps, nudges an elbow into the lads side and frowns when he stutters backward, dramatically. 

His eyes divert when he regains his balance and Zayn shifts awkwardly, keeps a steady expression as the bloke extends a hand, "M'Niall. Head chef. Irish if ya' couldn't tell." 

Zayn complies, holds the steady grasp and shakes firmly. A laugh tucked behind his lips because-  _obviously_. 

"So this is 'im, eh? Properly fit, Leeymo." Niall smirks, devilish. And Zayn hopes his cheeks aren't burning copper, fire flames and tomatoes because he's worse than his mum when flattered. 

"Yeah, this is Zayn." Liam rubs at the nape of his neck, apologetic glances back and forth, but Zayn doesn't entirely mind the confrontation. 

"Hello, Zayn." Niall smiles, a rabbiting snicker to follow before he turns to Liam. 

"First date in a rubbish construction site, Li? Dapper planning, really." He laughs louder, a tone like thunder that claps along echoing walls. 

Liam's cheeks darken and his eyes revert to the floor, mumbling out a soft, "why don't you jus', er-"

"Hang around a bit? I c'n fill up some pints. Make it a  _real_  date, eh?" Niall offers, giddy and Liam's expression is anything but welcoming when he lifts his chin and glares at him. 

"Or I could get me coat and go check on Care-bear? Right, yeah. M'sure she's pissin' her pants over the new burners." Niall snorts, knocks an elbow into Liam's side and nods to Zayn. 

A quick "nice meeting ya' mate. Be good to him." To go along with it before swinging himself back around the counter and shoving past swaying, kitchen doors. 

"He's uh-" Liam rubs at the nape of his neck, a prominent loss for words. 

"Charming?" Zayn offers, humorously. Drags a light laugh out past Liam's lips.

"Could say that." He says, swipes his tongue out over his bottom lip and lifts his chin. This draping silence to follow until-

"I could show you the kitchen? It's a lot more put together than," Liam tilts his head, seems to examine the wreck that is his sitting area, "this."

Zayn nods, waits for him to take the lead and pads afterwards, slow steps that crinkle along plastic tapestry. 

The kitchen isn't exactly large, it's petite. A set of burners pushed to the far left wall, a large oven with brick exterior. There are a few counters, metal top with a glazing of cleanser. There's this smell of meat in the air, or rather just chicken and seasoning, but Zayn doesn't mind all that well because it reminds him of holidays with his family back in Bradford. And- wow, that's really fucking calming. Soothing like to think about. 

There's one large fridge, or icebox. A few doors to the left and one to the right in particular that Zayn remembers barreling through, drenched and confused as to how he ended up in a stranger's home, gasping desperately for shelter from the harsh weather. Simply a boy he met in the park a few days prior and now, well.

"Watch your hand, love. It's hot." 

They aren't alone. 

A young girl, mid-twenties, Zayn presumes. Dark hair like dim afternoons with outstretched arms lingers by the opposed set of burners, her fingers a frantic mess as they fiddle with the knobs and sticks. Zayn can barely make out smaller hands running along the stoves handles, dipping along the dials and pressing at the fahrenheit numbers that continue to blink rapidly. 

"What-" Liam stutters from beside him and Zayn watches as the girl flicks at another knob. Her head spins around at the sound of Liam's voice and her lips part in pure surprise. 

"Oh, Liam! I'm completely useless at this, you've got to get that terror of a cook back in here because I'm not going to be any help." She babbles, lashes batting heavily along her upper cheeks as she strangles out an excuse. 

"It's no trouble, really. Jus' er," Liam cuts off, his eyes trailing along Colin now that he's stepped out into the open, brown eyes wide and curious as they scan over Zayn. 

Zayn shifts uncomfortably, bites along his lower lip and shoves his hands into his pockets out of habit. Nervous habit. 

"Hey, bud." Liam stalks forward, reaches a hand out and runs it through his son's sea of curls. A scene Zayn's become too familiar with, oddly. 

"He insisted on helping me out." The girl rests a hand on her hip, "polite like his father." 

Her eyes lift from the scene below her to Zayn, a questioning look on her face until-

"Oh my goodness, you must be-" She cuts off, drops her eyes and furrows her eyebrows seeming to real in the memory. 

"Zayn." He offers, nods it off because it isn't the most common of names. Not  _here_  at least. 

"Right, yes! It's lovely to meet you, darling. M'Caroline. Or the waitress, whatever works." She greets, steps forward to throw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. 

"Welcome." She whispers into the shell of Zayn's ear and he sort of melts into it all. 

"Thanks," he says when she back away, her eyes are sincere and she looks almost- relieved? 

They both stay quiet, the sound of Liam muttering small, slow sentences to Colin with one knee dropped to the floor and his hands planted to his son's shoulders has Zayn staring, gawking like a complete knob. So it's the sound of Caroline's voice that brings him back to, has him blinking away at dry eyes.

"He's a proper father, y'know. He never thought-" She shuts off with a smile, shakes her head back and forth and swipes a quick finger under her eye. She wants to say something, Zayn can tell that the words are lingering along her tongue, but-

"Hope you enjoy your food. Ace chef, this one." She ties in, a barely audible whisper and a finger pointed to Liam before backing up to take hands with Colin, swiftly. 

"I'll take him up so you c'n get your date on." She smiles, waits for Colin to mold into her touch before winking cheekily to Liam. 

And Zayn doesn't miss the way Liam's shoulders lift, tense like. A quick gulp like ' _date?_ ' stuck in his throat before he swallows it whole. 

"Thank you. N'd don't forget to-"

"The vitamins. No worries, lovely." Caroline reassures with a blush to her cheeks as she drags her eyes over Zayn one last time before pushing past the far door, hand in hand with Colin. 

Zayn waits, leans himself up against the island counter and watches as Liam stands to his feet, keeps his eyes pinned to the door and the way it sways shut after a good minute. 

He turns, finally, smiles a half-smile when he spots Zayn. A relieved sort of 'oh, good. You're still here' pasted to his expression as he sways back, leans up against the opposed counter and taps his fingers along icy metal. 

"So I hope chicken's cool, right? Everyone likes chicken." Liam assumes, his features curdling into something worrisome before he speaks again, "unless you're into veggies and-"

Zayn laughs, tucks his tongue in between his teeth and shakes his head, "not a vegetarian, no."

Liam sighs in relief, tucks a smirk away into his shoulder when he tilts his head to the burners. The flames still flickering, warm flags of fire up along metal plates. 

"I'll get to it, then."

 

===

 

"It isn't exactly gourmet, but-" Liam cuts off, bites along his lower lip with his hands outstretched, oven mitts and all. A platter, tender chicken, green beans and mash because that's all he really had. A nervous smile stuck to his face like glue and a worrisome expression like all of this won't be good enough. Like everything he's just fixed up won't be enough to please and- well, that couldn't be more wrong. 

Zayn can't hold down his smile, the way it bubbles up in his throat and sticks along his lips. And he sort of can't help but think of his father, a countless reminder to 'find someone who can cook, Zayner' that never seemed to make sense until-

Well, until now. Until Zayn's being pampered with piquant dishes in one of his acquaintances diners. 

One of his pals. 

(Or maybe it's more and he hasn't figured it all out in his head yet. Either that or he's just not willing to admit it to himself that maybe, possibly he's-)

"I think it'll do, yeah?" Liam adds, curious. 

"It's great, like, impressive, mate." Zayn pauses, eyes the food laid out along his plate like artwork on a canvas. Splashed, rich swirls of gold and a lively hint of green. 

And it's sort of odd how similar their interests are. How they're both so crafty and precise. How they could probably make quite the team if paired together in a culinary cooking competition, or something daft like that. Zayn's eye for anything artistic and Liam's cooking ability that's clearly through the roof because, well- he just whipped up something elegant in less than thirty minutes.  

But the both of them could be, like-

 _Unstoppable_ , he thinks, like an idiot in his head as Liam removes his oven mitts, slaps them down along the stove's edge and rests back. 

He's got this 'who said superheroes couldn't cook?' apron tied around his neck and Zayn can't really help but choke up on a laugh every time his eyes catch the print. 

"Gift from me mum last Christmas, pretty cool, eh?" Liam wonders, a manic grin stuck to his lips, coated over like gloss as he eyes Zayn. 

"It's sick," Zayn compliments, sinks back into the stool Liam's brought in from the back. 

There's a steady drum of  ' _Oh I, I think I'm into you how much do you want it too?_ ' humming softly throughout the dimmed kitchen, some radio Niall probably propped up by the order counter on his way out around twenty minutes ago. 

Zayn's just been too busy watching Liam jet his hands around, something simple as twisting a dial or flipping a switch. It's just the way he moves, gravitates around the kitchen like it's _his_  special place.  _His_  hideaway.  _His_   _home_. 

"Think I should get meself some, right? Wouldn't be a proper date if I left you alone to eat." Liam rushes out, fiddles along the nape of his neck and plucks at the knot tied there. 

"Date?" Zayn hums, straightens his back because -fuck, he's going to ruin himself and then his mum will surely lash out at him next time he, well, if he ever-

"Oh, er, it doesn't have to be," Liam recovers, loosens the strings and allows the apron to scrunch between his fingertips. 

"It's definitely not a date if you don't want it t' be." He nods, keeps a straight expression the whole way through. 

"Definitely not a date." Zayn repeats, likes the way the words taste humorously along his tongue because, well, he sort of  _likes_  this. 

"Right," Liam hums, spins on his heels to retrieve his plate. Shuffling along tile and plopping himself down in the opposed seat. Stainless steel, ice cold counter as their table in the middle of a halfway-constructed kitchen that's still missing knobs on it's sink handles and shelves in the refrigerator but it's working so far and Zayn won't complain. Not one bit. 

"Well, I think I can handle it. Y'know, if you are." Zayn bites at a smirk, hides it under the way he flicks his finger along his empty wine glass. 

"Yeah?" Liam wonders, gulps.

"Yeah, and I also think-" Zayn pauses, soaks up the way Liam's face twists into anticipation like, ' _what's next?_ ' "I could go f'r some wine, eh? What've ya' got." 

Liam's face softens, he seems to be able to breathe again and Zayn holds down a barreling laugh that's ready to slip past his lips because he loves that face. He's sure. 

"I've got some Merlot hidden away in the bottom left." Liam indicates, raises a brow and nods towards the set of drawers behind Zayn. 

"Didn't expect you to be into wine, so I didn't stock up, but, er." Liam bites away at his blushing cheeks and Zayn lifts a brow at that.

"And I didn't expect ya' to coat your chicken in adobo sauce, but, well-" Zayn shrugs and presses his lips together into this wrecking grin when Liam laughs lowly, shakes his head like 'touche.' 

"Merlot it is." Liam hums, defeated. Swipes by to collect Zayn's glass and ducks down to cork the bottle. 

And Zayn probably won't ever admit it out loud, but he sort of likes the way Liam's eyes pinch together everytime he takes a sip. Sort of likes the way his tongue brushes along the brim, the way his lips press together after every slosh in his cheeks. 

Sort of maybe likes, well,  _this_. 

This timeless world that seems to only include Liam, a half-diner and an every now appearance from his little boy. Shaggy brown hair and deep coffee brewed eyes that Zayn could get used to. 

 

===

 

It may have been more than two glasses between the both of them. 

The string lights are blurry, faded like stars along the dimming sky. Casts of indigo and raven coated moonlight shimmering through the diner windows. They've both resorted to a finished booth. One with leather seats and cleansed table tops. One that doesn't look so broken down and hopelessly unfinished. 

Zayn's pressed back against the leather with this satisfied smile peeled along his lips, lashes batting away the dust from the ceiling lamps that hang low. Dead bulbs because the electricians haven't quite gotten to the wiring yet. 

Liam's giggling at the way Zayn's pulling faces, drabbling on about how he feels  _this specific wine_ should be a specialty drink on the menu. Or the list of ideas Liam's going to put onto his menu, when he has time, when he isn't cooking meals for blokes that he meets on the street. 

It's back and fourth stories, childhood wishes and cracked dreams. A short drabble about how Liam sprained his shin at 12, playing footy with a few neighborhood lads and how his mum had him cooped up in his room for weeks. Nothing but soggy ice packs and Marvel reruns until he healed up fully. 

Or another when he was 16 and downing cheap beers up by some lake hidden in the woods, him, his one kidney and two best mates along his side as they skipped stones and Andy ended up bit by a snapping turtle because he insisted on swimming.

(It reminds Zayn of a time when he was just a reckless typhoon of getting smashed and stoned and everything else in between.)

And it's later, when the radio seems to twist off into late night remixes. Justin Timberlake and Kanye West spin offs and slowed down tunes. 

Later after Zayn can stand- well, almost. And when Liam's accompanied him out. The air cool like chilled champagne, hazy fog clinging to the rooftops of the low buildings. A countless amount of offers from Liam to walk him home because who knew this small city was literal. Tiny as all hell. 

And it's in between Zayn's panic and realization that he turns to Liam, mischievous, lip pinned under pearly white teeth.

"This was, er-"

"Extremely, life changing-ly fun?" Liam offers and Zayn snorts, shoves at his shoulder and rocks back on the balls of his feet. 

"Something like that." He mutters, softly. Traces his eyes along the winding road. Cobble bumps that lead all the way away. Off somewhere else. Somewhere Zayn used to call home. Still does, but, well, maybe?

"Well, m'glad you accepted, right? First customer and we've barely got the floor drilled in." Liam says, his sway off, a pose that leans him against the entrance. 

"First customer." Zayn repeats, hums the words and swallows them along with the desire to be more of Liam's firsts. 

"Yeah, s'cool." Liam mutters, thoughtfully. Like he's so grateful for this night. 

"Cool." Zayn repeats, holds the words in his mouth and lines his toes up with the tips of Liam's Cole Haan's. Scuffed up dress shoes that he really didn't have to wear for this. 

There's this quiet, nothing but late night crickets and the winds melodies as it carries a light breeze along Zayn's skin. The sway of shadowy trees in the distance, a shimmy of leaves that adds onto Zayn's list of calming country things. 

And it's so sudden that he doesn't really recall the action ever beginning in the first place. The way Liam's fingers trace up along Zayn's jacket and curve, the way his neck cranes and he sucks in a steady breath before he slots their lips together. 

It's nothing sugary bliss flooding his taste buds, a small hint of bitter wine stuck along soft lips. A slow motion moment that Zayn's read about a countless amount of times but he doesn't, well- he didn't take it all literally. He's frozen, his eyes flutter, fingers curl along Liam's hips and he tugs himself forward. 

But it's over just as quickly as it began, Liam steps back, dumbfounded, a pleading look like he's so fucking sorry and Zayn doesn't know how to react. 

(Not yet.)

"I'm- fuck, m'so sorry. That was-" Liam pauses, his hand finds its way up to the nape of his neck and he rubs at it with an apologetic sway. 

But Zayn just shakes his head. And he can't really help it, like he's nicking tarts from the sweet shop downtown Bradford at 15, like he knows he  _shouldn't_  but he  _needs_  them because, well, he's young and craving and- This is that moment. That moment with lightning blood where he tugs along Liam's jacket, reels him in and props himself up on his toes, doesn't think at all when he slots their lips together again. 

It's messy. A sweet taste that he didn't realize he missed until it swam off his lips the second they both disconnected. This flower petal, sunshine kiss that shouldn't mean so much, but Zayn's got his nose pressed along Liam's cheek afterwards and he's so fucked. 

"Yeah?" Liam breathes, his chest is hammering away like mad and Zayn steps back, leaves him some room to inhale properly. 

"Not bad," Zayn shrugs, humorously. A giggle caught in his throat as he brushes off all of the nerves he grew in that  _one_  moment. That particular moment that he's never really imagined himself pursuing with a lad like Liam, but it happened and he's sort of giddy off of it. 

"Not bad?" Liam wonders, his eyes are light under the moon's rays. (Brown tree bark and maple saplings.)

"For a lad." Zayn smirks, balances himself out and slips past Liam swiftly, allows the grin to smooth out over his lips before he turns, begins his journey back to his apartment.

"I guess I'll need more practice to really nail it, then, yeah?" Liam calls out from behind him and Zayn just stuffs a laugh into his coat collar, trips up over the never ending sidewalk and sighs into his next sentence. 

"See you around, Liam." 

 

===

 

The next few weeks are silly phone calls, pointless texts with blush-worthy drabbles that hang along each message. The sort of texting that is  _so fucking daft_   and cliché but Zayn grins and giggles at it all anyway. Red cheeks that have Louis on his arse a constant 24/7 and Lou a suspicious mess as she tries to crack the code. 

He knows it's all too smooth to be real. Whatever it is. The sort of emotion Zayn can't really put a name to because he's too busy thumbing away to some bloke he met in a childrens park- wow, that sounds really fucking odd- and swinging by a half put together diner every now and then to watch Liam drill in tiles and glue together seats. 

Him and Caroline and Niall and the new waitress Cher with her daft as all hell jokes and incredible laugh Zayn can hear half way down the street whenever he skips the coach and ends up perched on the corner of Addison. A loud bird, frilly curls with neon headbands who's desperately trying to save up for Uni but can't quite get there without a job at-

The diner, because Liam's still thinking up a name for the place. 

There's few chats with Colin, just a simple hello that Zayn will receive a nod in return from, but. Liam swears he likes him and it isn't like it really matters because this isn't anything, really. It can't be. This is just a project that he find somewhat interesting. A new canvas. 

And Zayn's standing by to watch. 

(Not because he's a fucking sap and sort of maybe wants a reason to stay here).

(Definitely not at all).

 

===

 

The willows sing with ruffling leaves and raspy winds that twists their branches and sway their cores. There's a smell like Summer in the air and Zayn sort of loves it. The distant shouts that come from a crowded play structure, a teetering see-saw just across the field and a duck pond no bigger than his living room back at the apartment, but it's all just so scenic. Like he could paint this if he could find his utensils, perhaps a quick charcoal sketch, a useless scribble just to ease his itch to be something. 

The grass is cool under his palms as they lay flat, keep his weight suspended and leave his eyes at a pinch. There's not really a purpose to this- or maybe there is and he's just too stubborn to acknowledge it. 

A picnic in the center of Bulwell Park because Liam isn't exactly easy to get rid of. 

(But Zayn's not complaining.)

And it's sort of impressive, actually. The lengths of the event. The way Liam's packed sandwiches and fruits and cola's for him, Zayn and the kid. 

Or Colin, because Zayn can call him that now. 

(Not like he couldn't ever, he just-)

"Lime's cool, yeah?" Liam blurts suddenly, teeth puncturing the end of a strawberry, pearly whites stained red as he sucks down the fruit. 

And Zayn gawks, or he tries not to, but he can't help it, really. Ruby sorbet strawberries that gush juice along Liam's bottom lip, a quick swipe of his tongue that laps at the excuse squirt and Zayn- fuck. He can't stop himself from imagining cherry red lips wrapped sinfully around his aching cock. Liam's hands on his hips while he hollows his cheeks and puffs, licks stripes along the underside. 

He blinks, swallows hard and presses himself into the fabric as a distraction. A hard on in the middle of the park probably won't look the best for him. 

Zayn lifts his chin, squints and nods when he spots the cola pressed into Liam's palm. 

He passes along the beverage and Zayn sits it beside himself, keeps his gaze set on the way Colin is jumping around in the grass, chasing Loki's tale as he pads along excitedly. It's like a movie scene, slow almost-tackles that Zayn smiles at, little hops and breathless giggles all because of one pup. 

"He's a good kid." He finds himself saying, somewhat hoping Liam doesn't hear him because that would be sort of, well, predictable. 

And he's not usually one to think out loud, mostly because of his dirty mouth and the fact he's gotten too prone at saying all the wrong things in all the wrong moments with all of the wrong people. 

"Good as in well behaved, or good as in cool?" Liam wonders and Zayn sinks back into his palms, follows the way Colin sneers, rolls back onto his bum and runs small fingers through the dog's rough fur. 

"Both." 

It's quiet, bird chirps and distant shouts that Zayn's come to appreciate. The sound of life. 

His eyes linger along bladed grass, swivels of weeds and flower patches that cling along the base of the oaks. Bushy leaves and sprouting bushes. Colin's got a dog chew toy grasped in his palm as he tussles with Loki.

"He insisted on the whole set." Liam mumbles suddenly and Zayn lifts his head, likes the way the sunshine catches along his clothing, brings out a light shade of blush pink along fairy dust white and it's sort of magical. Tinted. 

"The toys, I mean. Sea animals?" Liam tests his words out, "proper fascinated with the ocean, never even seen it, but." 

Zayn twists his smile, settles the spark of idea he has ignited inside of his brain and knocks his head to the side. He admires the way Liam watches his son. The way bulky arms stretch through short sleeved cotton and brown, swirling cocoa puff eyes dance across flat, green fields.  

"Likes the fish, like. Never took him all the way because I just worry about long distance traveling, cause, um-" Liam stutters. And it's only a whisper, but Zayn swears he can hear Liam mumble something strained, slow like, "he's, er-"

Zayn turns his head, furrows his brows and swallows down his sentence. Not like it would have been good, anyway. Liam's got his tongue striped out past his lips, his fingers picking along the loose stitching in the blanket, fumbling with his words until-

"He's sick, er, fuck- not like,  _no_. He isn't sick, he's just-" Liam stutters, keeps his eyes pinned on the way his son is dodging nuzzles and slurpy kisses from Loki in the grassy field beyond them. 

Zayn's heart drops only a little bit. Like he knew this was coming because it's sort of obvious when something's wrong, but, well. He wasn't sure. He couldn't have been and now he's left with this moment of pure wonder. Or pure question that bites at his insides and leaves him questioning gulping along each breath

"Asthma?" Zayn wonders because that's accurate, but Liam shakes his head, bows and traces the stitching in the blanket with his finger. This red and white checkered pattern that's so typical and pretty much just screams 'picnic' but that's okay. His eyes droop and his nose twitches. He keeps it together all the way until he musters together the word. Or the correction that comes so quickly Zayn doesn't really understand at first. 

"Anemia." He answers, eyes still low as they wander through grass forests. 

Zayn gulps down an 'I'm sorry.' Doesn't want to apologize because there isn't really anything to apologize for. 

"He can't like- he has a tough time breathing, right? And like a stuffy pick-up truck?" Liam begins to explain, "it's probably nothing to worry about but, just in case." 

He's got this rough voice, gravely because he's trying not to crack under mention, Zayn can feel it. This seep of pain that strands, drips off of Liam's every word. 

And he must notice the confusion that sinks along Zayn's expression because he doesn't hold back on a short lived definition. 

"It's his cells, they're twisted in all the wrong ways." He adds, "something a lot like holding your breath when you shouldn't have to." 

Liam keeps his head low and lips sealed once he's finished, fingers crossed in his lap as he droops his lip.

Zayn stays quiet, hates the way that this is how he finds out. 

Not like there's really another way, some big bang that he should have been expecting. It is what it is. There's never quite perfection wherever he goes and he knows that by now. 

Sometimes the stitches of impurity are woven small, like a leaky pipe in his apartment or a few chipped tiles along his kitchen floor. Or perhaps it's silly, nothing to freak over because  _he can buy more canvas'_  and Louis spilling water all over his last few isn't that big of a deal. 

His eyes lift from the blanket, trace over Liam's facial expressions before his lips part and he dips right into a question he needs to ask. Needs to know because he isn't as educated as he should be and maybe that's a good thing in certain situations. 

"Curable?" He wonders, medically clueless and not too educated when it comes to cell division or whatever it is that decides these lifestyles. 

"Working on it." Liam says simply, "vitamins and visits. All you c'n do, really."

Zayn turns his head, drops his eyes because he can tell that Liam wants to shrug it all off, wants to label this patch in his life as 'getting better' but there's something unsure left to linger, and perhaps that isn't good enough. 

It's silent nothings, gawking at the sky until the sides of the blanket tugs backwards, then forwards, then back again and Zayn pinches his eyes so he can make out Colin, Loki at his side as he tilts his head curiously. 

Liam sits up, swallows down all of his dread and drags the food cooler closer. Prints a smile to his lips and mutters a cautious, "hungry?" 

Colin nods, plops himself down in between Zayn and Liam and waits for his father to fish his food out. Peanut butter and jelly with iced tea and chips packed into some tupperware. Neat, ready to go and Zayn watches as the kid smiles, the way his eyes pinch together in something so familiar, so similar to-

Liam, obviously. 

"At least he isn't allergic to anything, right?" Liam cracks a smile when Colin wonders back to his edge of the blanket, sets himself up and pokes at his lunch. Loki by his side with a wagging tail and back and forth, small brown eyes. A pout every now and then because he wants those chips more than anything and Zayn holds down a laugh at the way the pup snarls when Colin brings the food to his lips. 

"Right," Zayn nods, keeps his ' _except the air_ ' response he knows is absolute rubbish tucked away somewhere wedged under his tongue and instead, admires the spacious bravery that Liam's got stored up inside of him. 

And it's later -when the sun begins to dip into the sky. When Loki's decided on flinging himself through the pond a few times, chasing after ducks and the occasional seagull. And when Liam's up to his ankles, denim soaked and frantic arms back and forth while Zayn laughs, breathless safe and dry back on the blanket with Colin- when he settles into this unsure hum of peace. 

Like maybe, well- fuck it. There isn't thoughts. He just wants to enjoy the ride because if there's one thing Zayn's come to know on this planet, it's that nothing good lasts.

Not in his world at least. 

(But he keeps that "maybe?" clutched into his palm just in case.)

 

===

 

"You've lost your marbles, Payne." 

Zayn's chin lifts, a giddy smile he's given up on shutting down spreading across his lips drowsily. He knows there's no point because this scene is priceless in every definition. 

Caroline, mouth propped open with a hand on her hip, eyes wide as she studies Liam. Fingers clutched around the splintered wood of an old paintbrush, his shirts coated in beige paint as he lifts a brow, sways back and forth on the ladder and scoffs every time she shakes her head. Colin is sat at one of the finished booths, tongue stuck between his teeth as he colors along an old coloring book. His eyes are pinched, closed in, focused on his drawing and staying in the lines and making sure that he doesn't scribble in the clouds purple or fill in the grass orange. 

It's the sort of scene that reminds Zayn of Christmas with his relatives when he was seven. Face buried into one of his Jaddah's gifts. Colored pencils between his fingertips because he's always loved a good color. 

There's drapes soiled with paint spillings stuck to the floor, masking and pushing up against the walls that are still dripping with fresh staining. 

Beige that Zayn winces at, swallows down a 'that looks like shit' and crosses his arms, tilts his head and blinks when Caroline and Liam both tilt their heads back. 

"Please tell him that it looks absolutely terrible, Zayn." Caroline pleads, a sternly clenched jaw and a shake to her head every time Liam whimpers, drops his eyes like he actually adores the color when really it was just a recommendation from Niall. 

"I think it looks pretty damn simple. That's what we're aiming for." Liam argues, mocks Caroline with one hand on his hip and a cheeky laugh when she swats at him seconds later, "plus, Niall said-"

"Liam James, please. You know that boy is half color-blind as it is. You can't take advice from him." She scolds, comically. Keeps her smile all the way through and rolls her eyes back when Liam waves his hand out. 

"I think it looks cool." Zayn says, finally, presses his thin lips together and shoves his hands into his back pockets. Tight denim because he's just picked this pair up from the laundromat and, well, snaps to him because he actually made it through his first load of laundry without Waliyah. Her and her unbeatable stain remover, quick hands and the bleach stick, because that little tool has saved Zayn more times than he can count. 

"But?" Liam and Caroline wonder in unison. 

"I thought for sure you'd go f'r red, man. Remember?" Zayn wonders, lingers along the edge of a booth and taps his thumb along the wood of the backstand, "Silver and red." 

"Now that's diner material, Liam. What have I been telling you?" Caroline shakes her head, crosses her arms across her chest and knocks her head back into a sigh. 

"There's no such thing as 'diner material.'" Liam scoffs, drags his eyes along the wall and the way the white mixes into the skin colored beige. 

"I'd beg to differ, darling. Anything but that." Caroline holds a finger up, playfully disgusted as she stuffs a giggle into her shoulder.

"S'revolting." She adds.

"Not exactly fitting and it's a bit-" Zayn begins, smirk painted across his face. 

"Shabby." Caroline finishes his sentence with a giggle.

"Oi, give me a break." Liam yelps with a pout tagged along his lips. 

"Just bolding my point, darling." She sways her position, slips her fingers and tugs along the hem of her jacket. 

"Then what do you propose I do about it, bossy?" Liam wonders, tilts his head back and presses a finger to the sticky paint drying along the wall. 

"Don't know, lovely, but I hope you lot figure it out." Caroline says, holds her tongue to the roof of her mouth," and let me know if you need me later for-" She cuts off, steps down from the stool she's dragged out from the kitchen backroom and satchels up her purse from the rimmed counter. Her eyes graze over Colin, his coloring uninterrupted as he sits there, oblivious. Fingers curled around an indigo crayon, murky streaks up and down his thin paper. 

"'Course, yeah." Liam nods, lifts his lip as Caroline steps towards the exit. Her hand brushes along Zayn's side and he tilts his head when Liam turns back around, seems to ponder his work and how he's most definitely mucked this up. 

"Help this clueless knob dazzle this place properly, yeah? He needs an artistic eye like you around." She smiles, something rosy pink that hits her cheeks and pours into Zayn like a buzz of 'safety.'

"Yeah," he mutters, lifts his lips and watches as she drifts by, lingers all the way until she reaches the door, pressing out with the click of her shoes along crusted tarp. 

He decides he sort of likes Caroline in the exact moment she slips along the railing on the outside steps, recovers and lifts her head, clutched fists as she yelps something menacing at the sky. A sort of fit that reminds Zayn of Safaa and her old school tantrums, pissed over some traditional meal their mum had cooked up that wasn't particularly on her list of likings. Smudged lipstick that she isn't too ace at applying because she wants to be just like Doniya, makeup queen since fifteen. 

"So red, eh?" 

Zayn spins on his heel, drags his eyes up the way Liam's perched back along the dry side of the wall. He's got paint streaked up his arms, sherwood blotches stuck over the inky black arrows printed along his forearm. A barely noticeable feather art with the cocoa butter swirls of paint striped there. He looks like a carpenter, a proper mess with his hair riled up into some hectic forest of a wave, bark brown shimmered into some lighter color with the afternoon sunshine blaring through the thin glassed windows. No blinds because paint is more important. 

Or maybe it's because Liam left Cher in charge of signing off on the shipments when they came in but, well, even Zayn wouldn't have trusted her to sign away when she's as flakey as paper mache. Loopy and out of it most of them time, but there isn't really much more to it other than she's absolutely ace at balancing trays. And that's valuable. 

"Since you're so persistent, I s'pose you wouldn't mind helping out." Liam assumes and Zayn can't help it, really. When he swivels his tongue, swipes it along his bottom lip and plucks it around to hug his teeth. 

"Do I have a choice?" He wonders, although he sort of knows that-

"Not at all, get over here." Liam grins, his chest puffing short breathes up and down, his heart beat steady as he bends down, steps off the ladder to grab Caroline's old brush. It's hinted with painted bristles and Zayn reaches out with careful fingers to grip the handle. 

He steps closer, furrows his brows together when Liam begins to speak, jumbled words that sound a ton like instructions but Zayn's tuned out, lingering eyes batting away every bit of dust that clings to his cheeks from new paint cans being propped open and shifted sheets under his feet. 

"And you should probably take that off," Liam says, draws Zayn back into reality and has him just a tad off. 

"The jacket. Looks expensive, you should, er-" Liam stutters and Zayn shrugs his shoulders, dips his tongue out past his teeth, nips along pink lips and shakes his head. 

"I'll be fine."

It's around thirty minutes later and, well- he isn't fine.

There's red streaks up his jacket sleeves. Plastered blotches to his chest and there's a couple brushes along his pant leg because Colin joined them about fifteen minutes in when Liam ended up leaning back against a freshly painted wall, shrill giggles joined into a full-on playful shriek when Zayn pointed at him, neck cocked to the side as he choked along every one of his breathless laughs. 

He probably should have taken it off. 

But he didn't and Liam's looking just as bloody with his striped t-shirt coated in the sticky, decorative solution. Cheeks the color of blushy flower petals as he stripes his brush up solid drywall, stroke after stroke, paint bristles thick as they coat the white walls red. A light color, not too flamboyant or flashy. It's blending, fitting and Zayn's proud of it, honestly. 

Colin's giggling manicly as he picks at the paint chipping along his hoodie sleeve. Alive eyes as they study the way red stains grey and mixes into some shade darker. 

And Zayn only lifts his head, snaps out of his daze when Liam mumbles something like, "you've got, er-"

"What?" Zayn wonders, blinks away the dripping ooze he can feel along his brow. How it got there, well, he couldn't exactly guess-

(Only he can because Liam and his rambunctious way of fooling around with painting material is the only way it could of gotten there. A paintbrush like a sword as it collided along Zayn's face, tickled up along his jawline and rested by his temple, staining his already midnight hair a blood red. Like he had been whacked in the head with a bat and he'd going to be out for a few hours because- wow, what a blow).

"S'like, right on your-" Liam cuts off, drags his thumb up along Zayn's chin and presses softly, smudges the paint that's so prominently streaked there. His skin has become a canvas and, well, it has been since he was 16 and inking up at Marlin's tattoo parlour downtown Bradford, but this is different. It isn't permanent. The paint. 

"Lip." Liam breathes and Zayn blinks, studies the way Liam's eyes drift low, they way they sort of maybe lock on Zayn's wetted lips. Studies the way a pink tongue sneaks out and licks a quick stripe long his mouth, the way his other hand steadies along his waist and his head tilts, hangs low and-

And Zayn doesn't entirely think at all about their surroundings when he seals the deal, slots their lips together in this quick 'heat of the moment' sort of craving that skips along his heart. Tugs at his lungs and swivels, boomerangs up his spine. A buzz of curiosity, like, ' _what does paint tase like along your tongue, baby?_ ' As he battles along Liam's, soaks up the faint taste of coffee and strong linger of juicy fruit gum he's been chewing on for the past few hours. 

His lips are puffy, swollen like, and the hum of ' _fuck, fuck, fuck_ ' doesn't simmer in the least when they pull apart, lifted cheeks and mischievous grins as Zayn rolls back on the balls of his feet. 

"Better?" Liam wonders, hopeful. And Zayn bows his head, chuckles lowly, a drum that beats along his heart and draws out steady, slow strums.

"You're getting there." Zayn thins out his lips, sways with his fingers twiddling up and along the paintbrush handle. His fingertips are stained red and he thinks it's going to take ages upon ages to wash this all out. But he finds this sort of worth it because his skin is still buzzing and his stomach is still flipping and he's addicted to this feeling like he's addicted to sour candies and his mum's tarts even though they were bitter and proper shit for his teeth, but-

He's okay with  _this_ feeling. This sensation that's  _so_  new to his senses and  _so_  foreign but  _so_  fucking good and he craves it like nicotine, craves it like-

There's a brush to his leg, a sort of shimmy that ruffles his pant material. And he knows it has to be Colin because Loki's been locked upstairs for the past three hours considering Liam's afraid, or more so terrified, he'll woof down the paint and end up sick on his stomach for weeks. 

"Think it's a good shade, babe?" Liam wonders, steps down from his stool and allows his son to take his place, small feet pad along wooden, paint stained ladder and Zayn watches as he examines the color with a nod. 

"S'cool." Colin hums, presses his pointer finger to the wall and crinkles his nose when he pulls it away, sticky pain printed to his fingertip as he twirls, pokes along Liam's palm when he reaches to ruffle his hair. 

Liam laughs, music like chords that Zayn shivers at. A tingle that runs along his spine and- fuck, he should be used to that sound now but he just isn't.

"Cool," he repeats, reaches up and flattens his painted palm, waits for his son to meet him halfway before they high-five, cheeky giggles all the way through and Zayn shifts, not entirely sure if he should feel uncomfortable or out of place or both because that's sort of how it's been ever since this became a regular stop-by. 

And so maybe his heart flutters abnormally when Colin turns to him, quirks his mouth, tugs along cherry thin lips and holds up his hand. Drags his eyes along Zayn's features and spills a smile while he waits for Zayn to reach up. 

He does, but he's hesitant as the kid slaps their palms together. It's this sort of breakthrough that Zayn doesn't exactly understand, nor does he fully see why it should matter, but he doesn't question how glad he feels when Colin sniffles out a giggle, and yelps, his accent barley developed, barely there, but it shines through and Zayn peels back a grin when- 

"It's cool, right, Zayn?" He wonders and Zayn's posture almost goes slack, the way he feels like his chest is closing in on him and his hearts going to burst with an emotion he can't quite define. But it doesn't really matter, because for once in his life, his lips seem to be ahead of him. 

"Proper sick."

 

===

 

The loft is exactly how Zayn remembers. 

The beams are low, casting late night shadows over the flashing living room carpet. The room is dark, shady and pitched with television flashings. A late night episode rerun that Liam insisted on flipping to. Couch cushions sucking Zayn under and it's sort of nice because they don't feel like solid cement on his arse. Not fake leather that he winces at everytime he shifts in his sleep. Not stone cold, radiating walls that bring nothing but midnight shivers and sniffling noses. 

Zayn cranes his neck, traces the pattern of the rug design with his eyes and ends up landing on Colin, head propped up by a pillow while Loki rests his chin on the kid's leg. Some Batman footies that Zayn should have seen coming a mile away because Liam's just fucking lives for that shit. 

(And so does Zayn, but, well. He isn't blatantly obvious-

 Or at least he doesn't think he is).

The night is still past Liam's bay window, nothing but hazy street lights beaming down on the street below. A raven canvas for a sky and little shimmers that shine bright, illuminate the sky along the moon and it's bright, spotlight, shinings. The sort of light that hits Liam's skin and brightens his eyes every time he shifts his chin to the left. 

Zayn's still got paint wedges under his fingernails, marks up his forearm because he hasn't really bothered to wash it off. Or maybe he scrubbed too lazily, or the paint was just too sticky, clinging to his skin like ticks. No match for lemon scented, liquid soap and a drizzle of water from an old sink. 

"Thanks f'r the help today, fun like." Liam says, his voice soft, barely audible over the telly's crackles. 

"Fun," Zayn snorts, lightly, remembers how painting used to be fun for him. Back when he could afford real paint brushed and real paints and strong canvases that don't give in with the least applied bit of pressure. 

"Yeah, not like ya' had a choice 'cause I wouldn't be able to finish it all by meself." Liam nuzzles his nose along Zayn's temple, steady breaths in and out, in and out as they sit there. Morphed into each other. 

"Mate, we got one wall done." Zayn laughs, buries the cackle after Colin shifts along his pillow. 

"I know, but s'like, progress?" Liam offers with a crooked smile, Zayn can barley make out from the corner of his eye but he knows it's there. Knows it like he knows Liam's arm is draped over his shoulders, tapping away light rhythms along Zayn's shoulder blade. 

They've got this whole couch and Liam couldn't be closer. And maybe Zayn doesn't exactly mind that. 

"Think it'll come together nice n'd easy, right? Like, we'll get the tables set up, kitchen doors hinged on, some knobs for the drawers." Liam drabbles on, wets his lips with a flick of his tongue, "and we c'n even get the bendy straws with those little containers, y'know?" 

Zayn nods, stuffs a laugh into Liam's neck when he cranes his head. Aftershave that lingers along prickly skin and some ginger, lemon cologne- figures. 

"S'gonna be sick, I know it." Zayn swears, presses his fingertips into Liam's hip and watches the channels as they flip from commercial to commercial. Cooking advertisements, cellphone ads, a few movie trailers. 

"And you'll stick around till' we're open, yeah?" Liam wonders and Zayn's heart thumps just a little faster behind his rib-cage. His skin tingles with goosebumps and he swallows, gulps down a response because he- well, fuck. He doesn't quite-

His eyes divert to Liam's son, the way his legs twitch and his head cranes to the side. And he doesn't exactly have to answer Liam's question because he's standing, or Liam is, carefully to his feet and straightening out his paint covered shirt along his torso. 

"Reckon I should get 'im to bed." He whispers, quietly, bends low to remove the small blanket from his son's body, scoops his arms underneath his back to hold him and allows his head to rest along broad shoulders. Eyes still drilled shut, lips puffy as they pout. And Zayn sinks back into the couch when Liam exits the room. Wishes the cushions would swallow him up and transport him anywhere where he doesn't have to pretend he needs this place. 

(Although he sort of does, slowly).

His fingertips trace along the loose stitching attached to the padding, his eyes count the swirling designs along the pillows until he stands, swallows and steps forward, his jacket clutched to his chest as he wanders down a wooded hallway. A faint light that shines through and arched doorway, light whispers that draw him closer and leave him perched along the entrance to a particular bedroom. 

Liam's there, his body hunched over his son's bed as he smiles down at him, tugs his fingers along soft blankets and drapes them to cover up his boy. To keep him warm because the seasons in Britain are never exactly kind. 

The walls are painted blue, a light shade that reminds Zayn of mid morning skies, lingering clouds that drift along the sky and paint images of art into his head. 

And he draws back, presses himself against the opposite wall when Liam flicks the lamp planted to Colin's bedside table off. Feather-light footsteps all the way to the hall until he creaks the door shut, blinks down at the doorknob and lifts his head when his eyes lock with Zayn's. His lips are parted as he tilts his head, whispers a slow, drawn out, "going home?" and leans himself back along white walls. 

Zayn draws his teeth along his bottom lip, grazes them lightly before clamping down, pressing his toes forward, shifting his body, craning his neck quickly until his lips are pressed to Liam's because he doesn't know how to answer that question without screaming ' _don't make me_ '. 

There's a slight gasp from Liam that seeps through thin lips, unsure hands as they find their way to Zayn's hips, steady him front and center and shifted toes until both of their feet are tangled into each other. There's this slow, sway, honey and molasses that drips along Zayn's tastebuds and has him parting for air suddenly when he thinks he may suffocate them both. 

"I could." He breathes out, ragged breaths between them both, but they keep the same distance. Not one inch or more apart as they knock hips, press into each other and teeter totter along the wooden beams. 

"You could?" 

"Unless, er-" Zayn stutters, red cheeks like garden tomatoes as he bows his head and blurs out the stupid grin tugging at his lips. 

"Unless I asked you to stay, right?" 

Zayn bows his head, his lips morph, press into something sealed. He can feel his spine numbing and his heart thumping like mad but he can't exactly grasp control over it all. 

Liam smirks, gulps along a rough breath and chases out a quick, "think I'd be into that," before slotting his lips forward, sucking Zayn back into that incredible hum of ecstasy that he's beginning to welcome into his everyday senses group. 

And he decides between every messy snog that he likes this a lot. Likes how Liam's so delicate even when he's got his tongue jammed halfway down Zayn's throat. Likes how his hands are mapped out, planted in all of the right places as the two of them sway, hushed giggles that catch along the air and bring their foreheads together every few steps. 

Zayn's feet catch along wood suddenly and he presses his thumb into the dip of Liam's back, traces the way his spine cuts off and the curve of his arse begins. Swallows deep when Liam presses his torso to Zayn's, a click that echos through the empty space and has Zayn stumbling back with steady arms around his waist. Strong hands that grip him and keep him moving.

"Bedroom?" He wonders, breathless and high off of this adrenalin that's shooting through his veins. 

"Yeah, jus' er-" Liam mutters, sucks in a harsh breath when Zayn sits himself back along some comforter. A thick duvet that he sinks into and can't help but bring Liam down ontop of him. Two reckless idiots figuring each other out for the first time. 

He grunts, nuzzles his nose under Zayn's jaw and chuckles when fumbling fingers shift, hips lift, something pressing into Zayn's crotch like- 

 _Oh._  

"M'not used to being on top, s'like-" Liam says in between whimpers, friction that Zayn provides him with, slow hip thrusts upward because he knows that's what he needs right now. 

"Hot?" Zayn offers, melts into a grin when Liam nods his head, frantic. 

"Yeah, s'like- it's got me  _so_  stiff, mate." Liam shutters and Zayn can make out the way he fits a ripe dent into his lip. Sweet and sugary and every bit of cotton candy on the cone he just wants to feel against his skin.

He shifts, locks his head back and waits until Liam props himself up on his elbows, eyes that catch along dreary moonlight from side windows and pour along Zayn's figure. 

Zayn's still got his hands pressed to Liam's back and he only moves them when he can't bare the stretch, flattens them out along the puffed up sheets and lifts his chin. He can feel the light prickle of Liam's stubble tickle along his skin. Lips like cushions as they press along his collarbone, a trail of sloppy pecks that have Zayn tugging ruthlessly on his bottom lip, tucking it in between his teeth and whimpering like a pup. 

An image of Loki flashes through his mind and he jolts, the thought of Colin stirred in his head because this isn't the largest living quarters- not like it would ever matter in any situation but this- 

"What about," he gulps, cranes his neck up. 

"Heavy sleeper, s'okay." Liam mumbles, along Zayn's neck and he sinks into the words, relieved. 

He's enjoying this. Peppery lips along his hot skin, Liam, steady hips as they knock forward every now and then and Zayn sort of maybe wants to just-

His hand's sink low, press in between both of their stomachs and he grins at the way Liam sucks in a tight breath of air when Zayn's fingers ghost over his trapped prick. The thriving bulge that's held prisoner behind denim fabric. 

Zayn's fingers prop at the waistband of Liam's jeans, they tug lightly and dip low until he can't. Liam shifts, mumbles something problematic like- "y'don't have to, I could wank ya' off, we don't have to even-" But Zayn just giggles, giddy, restless,  _ready_. 

"Shuddup." He hums, waits for Liam to prop himself up higher before his hands dip as well, meet somewhere in the middle with Zayn's and begin to shimmy his pants away. Down, down, down his legs leaving him a beautiful view of tight, stretched along briefs that claim Liam's waist so fucking fitting like that it sort of stings his eyes, has him batting his lashes like mad and cursing a low, 'shit, man' under his breath. 

Liam's set up on his knees, eying Zayn like dinner as he stretches an arm up along the inside of his t-shirt, paint streaks that shimmer in the moonlight and diminish altogether when Liam's left shirtless, exposed with nothing but his briefs to cover him up and Zayn's maybe definitely drooling over it all. Overdose of  _emotion,_   _want_  and  _need_  and everything else that comes along with breathless ' _fuck me now's._ '

Zayn shuffles, shimmies up onto his elbows and sinks into a groan when Liam loops a finger into his belt buckle, tugs down along the fabric and frees Zayn of his jeans in a few rough yanks.  His shirt is next, easily removed, shackled past his torso and lost somewhere in the dark corners of Liam's bedroom. 

And it's then when he feels hot skin along his, bare legs that tangle along his own, prominent bulges restricted behind both of their tight briefs. Kisses along Zayn's chest because Liam's so fucking good at all of this and tonguing that loops around Zayn's nipple, light teeth that nibble, tug along hard buds, smooth, tanned skin and draw the most animalistic of mules past Zayn's lips. 

"Fuck, you're-" He mutters, ragged breaths as his chest lifts and drops profusely. 

Liam hums, keeps his trail pure and steady as he nears Zayn's aching cock, head peaked, caught between sticky elastic and he huffs when he feels fingers curl along the waistband, peel the material back and the following slap of his dick along his abdomen ricochets to his ears, parts his lips out of pure need and he arches his back when he feels hot breath along his stiff prick. 

His hands are reaching, ruffling along Liam's hair until he gets a good grip. Not too tight, not too rough, he thinks, keeps the reminder repetitive until it's printed into his brain. He won't much this up by tugging all of Liam's hair out. 

Zayn can feel slippery lips along the underside of his cock, a striping tongue that engulfs his head moment slater and has his knees buckling from sensation. 

"So hot on me, like,  _shit_." Zayn groans, bucks his hips with threaded fingers lost in Liam's fucked hair. 

Liam giggles, low, bobs his head up and along Zayn's shaft, keeps his cheeks hollowed and tongue active as it licks up, down, up. Like one of Louis' lollie's he spends ages sucking on when he slots himself into Zayn's office during all of the wrong moments and- fuck, no. He won't think about Louis here. 

He focuses back in on Liam, slow curls of his tongue that send a buzz through Zayn's erected cock and up his spine, key-gating all of his nerves and leaving his tongue a sputtering mess as it coats layer after layer, glossing his lips over until they're glistening with dribble.   

"Think this could be me profession, eh?" Liam lifts his chin and Zayn crinkles his nose, holds down a giddy laugh. 

"Shut it," he huffs, ecstasy and humour mixing into something sensational as they fling themselves through his nervous system. 

"Seriously, though. M'liking this, hot, sticky-"

Zayn groans, teeter totters along the words like they're all he's holding onto. Sighs when Liam goes deep, flicks his tongue along the underside of Zayn's cock and has Zayn's left hand gripping at the sheets, eyes pinned shut because Liam's so fucking hot when he's gagging himself and Zayn- although he finds it sinful to admit to himself- has thought about how pink, puffy lips would feel around him. Engulfing him and warming him like fireplaces in the Winter, hot cocoa and hand-stitched blankets. 

It's incredible, no-  _prodigiously sensational_. 

His lips part and his body quakes, he can feel a hum in the pit of his stomach and he knows it's going to be early for him. He hasn't gotten off properly since the flowers began to spring up and out of the ground. 

"Good?" Liam wonders, lifts his chin and presses his fingers to the base, saliva cool as air coats, ghosts along Zayn's skin. 

"Perfect,  _fuck_ , Liam." Zayn sputters, groans, stiff when Liam slides his lips back around Zayn's head, takes him whole and sucks him with empty cheeks. 

So it isn't exactly a major surprise when Zayn comes, hot spurts of spunk coating Liam's tongue, a sensitive tip when his tongue keeps lapping up and around Zayn's leaking prick. A loose strand of ' _fucking insane_ ' tucked away into Zayn's cheek as he props his head up, mouth strewn open as he blinks at the way Liam's swallowing all of his come like a champ. A beyond pornagrahic look in his eyes when they lift, find Zayn's and lock like 'sit still, I'm almost done' and Zayn thinks he could probably spill a few more loads with that one, but he won't be selfish now. 

Liam lifts his head, gulps and Zayn's cock twitches, beats along his bare stomach. 

"You're filthy, like, covered, man." Liam gulps, drags his eyes along Zayn's stomach like 'my tongue did what?' and Zayn rests his head back, amused.

"I could, er-" Liam stutters, wipes his palm along his abdomen, smeared sweat along his already glistening skin. 

"Fuck me." Zayn chases out, bites at his tongue when Liam's eyes widen just a little bit, "or like- we could, right?" 

Liam groans, his hot stomach pressed along Zayn's sticky torso, a fury trail leading from the thatchy nest of hair along his cock up, up, up, coated with precum and sweat and saliva. Chin along Zayn's chest with question in his eyes, unsure mumbles before ne clamps down along his bottom lip, drags his teeth and rushes out a slow and steady, "right."

Zayn shifts back, presses his lips together and traces the ceiling cracks as Liam sits up on his knees. The darkness is engulfing both of them but their frames are still clear and Zayn can hear shuffling and rummaging and small curses falling from Liam's mouth. A creak of a drawer after the bed dips and sweaty palms along Zayn's shins when Liam finishes fetching. 

"Thought you could use some prep down there, yeah?" Liam mutters, fumbling hands along a small petroleum packet and thin, square cut, condoms Zayn stiffens at. 

"Yeah, yeah," Zayn rushes out, swallows and kicks his legs lightly, shimmies his briefs lower along fury legs and sighs, relieved when Liam meets him halfway, plucks them past his feet and tosses them somewhere into the dark abyss. 

"I could get me tongue in you, er, if you're into that, dunno-" Liam stutters, sticks his hands on either side of Zayn's thighs, spreads him slowly and licks along plush lips. 

Zayn gulps because-  _fuck_ , he can imagine the flick of Liam's talented tongue rough along his arse, curving, dipping along tight muscle and retracting every few laps. 

"Just- fuck, _anything_ , you don't have to do that, though, s'like-" Zayn cuts off, shutters when he feels the print of Liam's index curve down past the base of his cock, the way both of his hands work to cup Zayn's balls and carry him through this massive quake of 'fuck, Liam' that bounces along his tongue.

"Good?" Liam wonders, presses his thumb lower, pulls pack his opposite index and hovers along Zayn's tight hole. 

Zayn hums, deliberately. Pinches his eyes closed and sinks into the feeling of Liam and the way his skin flames along Zayn's and makes him feel alive. 

There's a pause, this brief moment where there's nothing before there's everything and Zayn gasps when Liam dips his hands down once more, skin coated in chilly jelly that sends shockwaves of ice through Zayn's blood. A sensation he isn't that used to, a foreign freezing that settles into his stomach and sits there to ice over. 

He can feel the tight urge lost along his entrance, a sticky coat of lubrication that has his lips parted, slow gasps brushing along his teeth and battering the walls of his mouth.  

And he only winces a little (or maybe a lot) when Liam eases one of his fingers in, tight heat engulfing Zayn's skin and tingling along his every fiber. Pulling him into this crunch of pressure that only eases up after a minute until- 

"S'this okay?" Liam asks, presses a second fingertip along Zayn's tight ring of muscle, dips his head lower and just focuses on stretching. 

Zayn huffs out a breath of air, fills his lungs with fresh oxygen and nods along the sheets, "yeah, good." 

Liam pauses before shifting, thumbing along Zayn's hole before pressing inward again. A burn that ignites Zayn's insides and chases his heart just a little further up his throat. 

It's minutes of just settling into the stretch until Zayn shuffles down, lifts his bare arse up off the sticky duvet and lifts into Liam's fingers. His mouth props open and his eyes flicker, his vision blurry along the ceiling when Liam begins to wiggle his digits, slow at first, but a scissor-like effect within minutes of warming up and Zayn's properly impatient by the time Liam's palming himself through his briefs with his opposite hand, a sticky mark where his tip fits in and whispers like 'so fuckin' hot' spilling past his lips every time Zayn groans out from intensity. 

"So hot, like, the way you react t' it, your face all scrunched up n'd shit." Liam breathes, dips low, deep.

"Oh fuck," Zayn blurts, clenches tight muscle around Liam's finger.

"You c'n just- fuck, man. I'm ready. Set like." Zayn chases out, voice beat, raspy and fucked over with pleasure as he shifts, sucks in a deep breath when Liam nods, loosens his fingers and slips them out of Zayn's glossy entrance. Slicked up and ready to be ruined.

"Rubber?" Zayn wonders, feels a bit daft for asking, but, like-

"Yeah, yeah," Liam rushes out, "got it here- er, somewhere."

Zayn nods, lifts his head, eyes wide as he blinks once, twice, Liam's fingers dipping past the tight elastic plastered to his waist, a flick of his wrist and a quick tug until his cock springs free, slaps along his chest and has Zayn's mind reeling. His tip is covered over with foreskin yet his base is slicked with sticky precum, a thick patch of curly hair stationed along his base that trails up along his lower abdomen, finishes up along the center of his chest somewhere and Zayn moans. He full on loses it because this isn't- this is  _so fucking fantastic_  in every definition. 

He keeps his eyes set, drilled on Liam and the way he's stroking, curving his fingers along his thick prick, pressing his thumb to his sticky head and parting his lips when he reaches for the folium packet, allows his cock to rest, erect along his stomach while he lathers himself up, presses the tip of the condom to his head and rolls down slowly. Too slow and Zayn groans, impatient. 

"Tell me if it hurts more than it should." Liam says, voice soft and brilliantly lustful as he lines himself up, hands pressed into the duvet along either sides of Zayn's hips.

"Like I'd know." Zayn whispers, ragged, swallows hard when he feels a sensitive head split along his hole. 

"Has it been a while?" Liam wonders, paused, and Zayn just wants to press downward, slip himself along thick, long meat, but.

"Doesn't matter, just-"  He hums along his broken sentence he braces himself, absolute silence before-

"Fuck," they both wince, Zayn's eyes drilled shut as the tip of Liam's cock presses past his aching center, tight muscle that clamps along pinched, sensitive skin and fuck, it stretches and burns like hot coals. 

"Too fast?" Liam wonders, words slowed, blurred down into something Zayn can barely understand so he just shakes his head, encourages more and slips his head back along warm covers. 

"No, s'good, burns a little, but-" He trails off, words simmer into a low mangled moan that shifts up his throat. 

He can feel the mass of Liam's length slowly invading, slipping into him. It's tight and it's uncomfortable but he can't help but  _want_  it. His lips part and he mewls something ridiculous but he's lost control of his mouth, he knows that when he begins to mumble senseless shit like- "so fucking good," and "drill me, mate, just-" 

He stutters along his last syllable, groans and digs his fingernails into Liam's sticky sheets. His thrusts are deeper, more rough and Zayn sort of likes that. He adjusts, lifts his arse and groans low and steady when Liam pumps himself, fucks into him like he's lost his conscious completely. It burns in all the best ways, shocks that run up through Zayn's spine and tickle the hairs on the back of his neck. 

"So tight, like- you're squeezing me." Liam huffs, breathless as he slams down. Balls slapping along the curve of Zayn's ass and the sounds is nothing but sticky, sweaty skin dripping along the walls. This bubble of pure ecstasy that's swallowed both of them up and kept them squeamish, ragged and fucked. 

"Yeah?" Zayn asks, grunts into his next breath when Liam's hips stutter, his head dips and his lips press to Zayn's neck, sloppy, wet kisses that leave Zayn a mess of overwhelming sensations. New and old, mixed and insane busts of pleasure. 

"So good- fuck," Liam drags out, buries himself deep, holds steady and pulls out, his lips pressed along the shell of Zayn's ear as he whispers filthily. 

"So fucking tight around me, babe." He hums, "I can feel it in me toes,  _god_ -"

"Faster." Zayn encourages, doesn't miss the way Liam lifts his chin, raises a brow like 'really?' 

"C'mon, fuck me." Zayn eggs him on, "rough, man. I want it rough." 

Liam gulps, his eyes focus in and he comes to slow shallow thrusts before he purses hi lips, sweat lined his forehead as he plummets, fucks Zayn like it's his job. Fucks him like he's got nowhere else to be in the world except here, trapped in this pornographic moment with these pornographic words and these pornographic feelings and no- fuck, it's so worth it. Every pinch, every stretch, every sloppy thrust that gives Zayn a head rush and sends twitches along his fingertips. 

"Thought about this-" Zayn cuts off, winces into Liam's next slam and hugs his lips together. 

"Yeah?" Liam wonders, pulls out slowly and stutters his hips. 

"Yeah, like- proper hot. Thought about your dick and how it'd feel in me." Zayn moans, bucks his hips and he can feel the tense pressure Liam applies next, keeps his arms drilled into the mattress on either size of Zayn's arms. 

"Fuck, m'gonna like- m'gonna come, Zayn." Liam chases out along his tongue, sucks in deep with all he's got and Zayn lifts his head, sits up with all he's got. 

"Thought you'd be drilling me like ya're now and s'so hot, babe." Zayn coo's, like a fucking lovesick teenager who's desperate for a quick blowie in the school bathroom. 

"Zayn, you're-" Liam moans, a sweaty mess. 

"Come in me, fucking knock it, mate." Zayn orders, splitting his teeth along his bottom lip and sinking into the furious smashes Liam send his way next. A mixture of ' _fuck, man, fuck_ ' and ' _so hot for me, so fucking tight and warm_ ' that Zayn gawks at, wrecked. 

He's got his hand wrapped around his own prick, steady jerks that have his finger slipping from sweat and precum. And he's right there when-

"Fuck, babe, fuck you got me so fucking hard, shit." Liam spills, drills his hips and shoots into the condom ruthlessly, his lips parted with slow curse words dripping off his tongue and hitting Zayn's ears rapidly like gunfire. And it's enough, perfectly. The feeling of Liam still stuffed deep and his hair a matted, dewy mess, the pinch in Zayn's stomach that carries him up, up and to his orgasm. 

Slow strokes up and down his throbbing cock that ends in hot spurts of ribbon-white come shooting along his torso, ragged breaths like wild animals as both of them sit, ride out their highs and just breath through the title wave of pleasure that seems so, so-

"So good." Liam hums after a few minutes of nothing, stuffy air that's almost suffocating but isn't exactly toxic and Zayn thinks he can manage for a few more minutes in this position. 

So he whispers a lazy "Sick," allows the words to roll off of his tongue smoothly before he feels Liam sink out of him, a slight stretch he doesn't exactly wince at because of the exhaustion seeping into his blood, but. 

He groans, approvingly when Liam knocks their hips together, presses his forehead to Zayn's and whispers a slow, "stay here?" 

Zayn doesn't respond at first, keeps the ' _didn't plan on walking fucked off me rocker_ ' taped under his tongue as he licks a stripe along his bottom lip. Cranes his neck low, nuzzles his nose along the curve of Liam's shoulder once he shifts to a more comfortable spot, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he huffs out breath after breath. 

He nods after a few minutes of nothing. Sleep like poison as it drags along his bloodstream, pulls his lashes low and has him ducking his chin into Liam's shoulder. 

And he can't help but think, through his hazy and beyond fucked thoughts, that there's no place on earth he would rather be than here in  _this_  moment. With Liam and this loft above this diner that's not quite done, but it's getting there. Home cooked meals, a furry little pup and Colin. A little boy who seems to welcome Zayn into his life more and more with every day that passes. 

Zayn's just still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or not. 

 

===

 

It's sometime around four in the morning, the horizon nothing but a mixed fuschia glow, scattered stars that catch along the faded out tree tops and draw Zayn's vision steady. The sun is just beginning to wake up, the moon dipping low and under the radar like it was never there to begin with. Bird chirps that sting at Zayn's ears and have him sighing into his lit fag. His lungs burn and he didn't realize how much he needed this until he found his way out here. Stumbled along, barefooted and half blind with early morning hazy skies as he sat himself along scrappy shingles. 

It probably isn't safe, not like he entirely cares because it's too early and his brain can't be bothered and his lungs needed air but craved nicotine like coffee, so here here sits. A pair of joggers strapped up his legs that are a bit too big for him but it's all he could manage to find in the abyss of darkness that was Liam's bedroom when he woke less than thirty minutes ago. Fucked hair, inked and loose falling into his eyes as he takes a slow drag, smoke swirling like fog inside of his lungs and stinging his interior in the best of ways. 

He keeps tugging along the frays in Liam's sweatpants, fingertips tracing along the way frilly strings hang loose and he thinks that this is all sort of fucked. 

The way he's sat up on some old rooftop with a view of a sky he hasn't even established to be his yet. There aren't smoke stacks and chalky clouds and beeping horns throughout the night. It's steady and calm like before the breakwater in your closest harbor. 

He's about halfway through his burnt out cig when he realizes that this might be- 

He wants nothing more than to call it good, fitting,  _right_. 

But he's still got this nagging thought at the back of his mind like this won't be any of that and he hates that more than he hates mornings. Although here he is, ironically. Cig plucked between his lips, some old worn out sweats that hug his legs loosely as he watches the sun surface low in the sky. 

And he thinks- absentmindedly of course because his brain is scattered with sleep and his swallows are groggy and taste like mint drag-  _well, maybe?_

===

 

"So I've been thinking,"

Louis' voice rings scratchy, sticks his hands together into this sort of clap and Zayn lifts his eyes, lazily. It's half past eight, this awake feeling beginning to strum through his body and open shop. No coffee or energy drinks today because he hasn't seen Lou all morning and he isn't going to keep nicking them from her when she isn't around. 

"About?" Zayn wonders, sunk low in his chair as he fiddles with a wooden pencil. Stripes his thumb along all sides before picking at the eraser top, loose shavings that float into his lap and collect along his slacks. 

Louis quirks his lip, keeps them pinned before he hustles out a quick, "I was thinkin' about getting myself a job, right?" 

Zayn snorts, keeps the sound as low as possible and holds it in his lungs until Louis gives him a look. Like he's serious, like he'd actually end up out and about scouting for business or rather any situation that would offer him money and for what reason? 

"S'not funny, Malik. M'serious." Louis edges out a huff, crosses his arms along his chest like a frustrated teenager. 

"Did she cut you off?" Zayn wonders, tucks a disbelieving smirk away into his shoulder when Louis cranes his neck. 

"No, for your information I'm deciding to apply myself more, get somewhere." Louis huffs, gulps like he's afraid before- "take it as an inspiration, bro. You've inspired me."

Zayn nods, thins a smile out along his lips and sits himself up a bit, lifts his chin and waits for the big 'just kidding, sucker' that's sure to follow but-

"Seriously?" 

"Serious as ya mum after Aberford Road, mate." Louis says, chuffed and Zayn shudders, hates that image of blue and red sirens and- a memory he's chose to leave buried until now because Louis is insensitive and may just love joking more than he loves living free.

"Anyway, I was hoping you could rec some places for me, yeah?" Louis wonders, tips his head back and rolls his neck along the corner chair. There's a snapping sound that Zayn winces at and he taps at the keys along his keyboard before spinning a little to the left. 

"What makes you think I know this place better than you do?" He asks, hopes to hide the distant accuracy because- yeah, Zayn knows this place pretty well. He knows the woman's clothing shops that line up Broad Street and are always bustling with last minute shoppers late at night. He knows the boutiques and the parks and the off putting, odd neighborhoods that he has to travel through on the coach just to get home every night. He knows Bulwell park and a certain diner that isn't quite open for business yet, but will be. 

"I'd think you would considering you and your little tour guide seem to be so fond n'd all that rubbish-"

"Pin it." Zayn groans, rolls his neck back and stuffs a mangled cough into his elbow when he comes back around. Louis' face still a tight sneer like it always is when he knows too much or too little. 

"Whatever, mate. I get it." Louis surrenders, raises his hands and pouts his lips, "when you're ready." 

Zayn scoffs, lightly, thumbs along his keyboard and quirks his lips into something odd. He doesn't like that push he feels everytime he thinks about this. This will to stay that's wedged under his skin because he's got something a lot like a reason to be here. Not like he didn't before, but- it's this place, he swears. Like a massive illusion that's swallowed him completely and now he's in too deep to crawl out. 

"Anyway, since we've got mentioning of the job possibility out of the way-" 

"Possibility?" Zayn wonders, amused. 

"Job  _proposal_ ," Louis corrects with a growl, snippy by definition, while Zayn snickers low. 

"I was thinking you could f'r once in your life except another night out with me, yeah?" Louis tilts his head, wide eyes like- oh, he's fucking serious? 

Zayn bites along the inside of his cheek, ponders the thought of ever possibly-

"It'll be absolutely-"

"Tragic?" Zayn offers and earns another unamused groan from Louis. 

"No, you  _sod_ , it'll be fun, fantastic,  _extravagant_." Louis emphasises, flashes his hands up and goes inf or a high-five but Zayn just sinks, a low chuckle that bubbles in his throat and has him shaking his head back and fourth. 

"So I guess uni paid off, right? Big words n'd such." Zayn teases, grin and all as he props himself back. 

"Shut it, dick. At least I attended." Louis fires back, pissy like. 

"For two weeks?" Zayn wonders, humorously. 

"Three." Louis corrects and Zayn runs his thumb along his bottom lip, attempts to seal another laugh back because he's supposed to be  _working._  Thumbing out schedules and tapping out emails, scanning them and sending them to Harry who hasn't been seen in a week or so, but it doesn't matter because this is Zayn's job. The only thing keeping him here but-

(He knows there's one other wedge that's got him nailed to this town but he can't quite admit that to himself-

-yet.)

"If you're quite finished being an absolute prick, I'd like to invite you out. You, me, that beauty guru of a sister you've got." Louis rambles and Zayn delves into his head, images of Waliyah with her hair pinned back, dressed up in some tight strapless dress with all of her makeup done like petite masterpieces along her eyes. A proper sick artist if you ask anyone from Bradford because she's known as an absolute legend there for all the girls in primary.

"So," Louis leans back in his chair, wobbles the legs and Zayn winces at the creaking, "you in?"

He lifts a brow, presses his lips together before- "You could even bring-"

"I'll go,  _hell_ , just get out of here." Zayn presses fingers to the back of his neck, rubs steadily along the skin there and eases into the touch, finally, when Louis stands up. 

"It's a date, then, Malik." Louis laughs, a cackle that booms too loudly to be that real, but Zayn doesn't tease him for it, hopes he'll just scat before he becomes even more behind in this ocean of a check-list he's got tacked to his wall. 

"I'll text ya' over the deets and you can deal with Wali." Louis hollers from the cubicle entrance and Zayn huffs, presses his fingers to his temples and thumbs them over a few times. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Almost, but-

"And perhaps even-"

"Go," Zayn waves off, irritated for a few seconds until he hears Louis laugh, a 'woops' sort of yelp and a ' _Mary, you're looking ravishing this morning!_ ' tied along with it because Louis has been most charming since he can remember. 

Or maybe he's just the devil, but Zayn loves him just the same. 

 

===

 

His curtains are drawn low, thick, draped like thick blankets along his windows the following Sunday. The final touches to his not-so-perfect flat but it's getting there. a bed frame with a mattress and proper linens. Dark duvets to go with his dark bedroom because Zayn's convinced himself at 16 he's happier when there isn't so much light in the world. Easier on his eyes, his head, his mind. 

 _Easier to hide_ , he thinks like a coward, but shoves it back because he's got nothing to hide from. 

Just perhaps his neighbors and the way they don't seem to be able to tell proper time. Late night hollering that rattles Zayn's ears and have pretty much turned him nocturnal. Left him a drowsy mess at work and a right lumpy sack when out in public, but. He's got his beats to drown them all out and he finds that sort of incredible because he's gotten everything to work so far and he's almost getting there. 

Getting somewhere. 

There's clattering in his kitchen and Zayn saunters like the walking dead, keeps his footsteps steady as he drags curled toes along hardwood flooring. Mopped and brushed, shimmering clean. 

Liam's there, a running faucet that spirals trickles of water down, down, down along few dirt dishes. Late night toss-ins that Zayn couldn't be bothered to deal with, but now Liam's offered while Colin's out with Caroline and Zayn may have needed another excuse to-, well, he doesn't know. See him? That isn't so awful to admit.

His arms are loose, swaying as he lingers across the small kitchen, silent padding and a steady grasp along Liam's waist that tugs him along, soft cotton joggers and a dip in his back that Zayn fits into like a puzzle piece.

"Y'know," He whispers, lips pressed along the shell of Liam's ear," you'd make a sick maid." 

Liam giggles, low, dips his neck to the side and molds into the position, keeps his fingers busy as they slip along soaking pans and silverware, "don't get used to it, mate. It's a solid." 

"Too bad," Zayn smirks, presses himself along the curve of Liam's arse and tugs along his lower lip, he loves the way his body responds, perks out, stiff along Zayn's groin and he doesn't mean to press forward, but. 

"I could imagine ya' in tight pants, dust brush n'd all with a accurate print of your big-"

"Zayn-" Liam warns, something a lot like ' _watch it_ ' built into his tone as he flips the faucet off, soapy hands and suds that float up and catch along the air. 

"I could come home all dirty like, you'd have to clean me up, right? Shag me in the shower, a lot more slippery, wet and-"

Liam spins, red cheeks as he flings the soapy suds from his fingers along Zayn's t-shirt. It catches the fabric like fire and stays, popping away silently, diminishing slowly and Zayn's lips part. 

"Filthy." Liam gawks, humorously, "you're lucky me son ain't here to hear you, fucking hell." 

Zayn smirks, rolls back on the balls of his feet and furrows his eyebrows at the way Liam's rosy-cheeked, giggling and pressed back along a sturdy countertop. 

Zayn steps forward, knocks his hips along Liam's and keeps his hands on either side of the surface, a crooked grin that masks Liam's and has him leaning in, brushing his nose along Zayn's. Delicate. Slow. 

"Thanks f'r this, er, helping?" Zayn says, words low, blurred out and bended into something slow motion. 

"Yeah, jus' returning the favor, right?" Liam asks and Zayn nods, bumps their hips together. 

"Right. Solid. You said that." 

They're quiet, a draining sink and a leaky faucet that drips sole drops of water along a halfway filled sink, suds puffing up the sides and spilling over just a little. An active volcano  of cleansing product. 

"Er, I wasn't going to, but I s'pose, uh-" Zayn mumbles, suddenly and Liam raises a brow.

"I've got this thing, right?" He finishes. Eyelashes cast low, batting along the high of his cheeks as he presses his forehead to Liam's, slow breaths that are barely enough but he makes them work because he likes this too much to back off. 

"A thing?" Liam wonders, lifted brows. 

"Not really, it's like, it's a dinner, right? Stupid, but."

"Dinner?" Liam repeats and Zayn nods, top teeth puncturing into his bottom lip.

"Yeah, and it sounds daft 'cause it's with one of me mates and me sister, but you could come? You and Colin?" Zayn wonders, question and hope mixed into the same emotion because he doesn't want to go in alone and,well- maybe?

"I won't have to cook, will I?" Liam taps his finger along the dip in Zayn's spine, curve and lift up leaving him with a shock of  _something_  that he melts into so well. 

"'Course not," Zayn hums, blinks and catches the way Liam's eyes burn chestnut and gold layers in this lighting. Rings of brown that could fit a new planet somewhere in that mess of a solar system Zayn learned about back in primary. Just a little lad with a knack for coloring, action figures and paper thin comic books. 

"I get to meet your sister, then, huh?" Liam sports a grin, thinned lips sucked away behind white teeth as he presses his finger lower, trails and thumbs circles above the dip in Zayn's arse.

"And one of the most senseless asshole out there right beside her, but I think it's a fair trade." Zayn nods, presses a laugh into the curve of Liam's neck and breathes in the sent of ginger, cheap cologne that smells so strongly, so lively.

"Definitely," Liam laughs, bellows out genuinely because he's just so-

Meticulous? Attentive? 

 _Both_ , Zayn decides rather cheesy like, lips along the skin on Liam's neck and draws his hips back, slow.

"So, what do I wear? S'it casual, formal, do I have to go out and buy Col a tie n'd some dress shoes?" Liam wonders, sinks back and keeps his lips close, parted, but there.

Zayn snorts, swallows down the ' _you're taking the piss, right?_ ' he has wedged in his throat and mumbles a more subtle, "as long as you aren't naked, I s'pose." 

Liam nods, content with that answer, although Zayn can feel the way his thumb stops drawing slow circles and the way his lips lift up just a little before he- "Reckon I  _could_  come all natural, though, eh-"

"Pin it," Zayn laughs, tongue pinned between his teeth as he dips his hand down along the sink, splashes his fingers around and slaps a wet palm to Liam's back. 

"Oi!" He yelps, jumps forward and Zayn stumbles back, laughing into every step. 

"Absolute savage," Liam giggles, stretches one arm back and behind, presses his fingers along the sopping wet mark and he frowns something playful. 

And it's back and forth from there, with Zayn skidding left, Liam skidding right, nearly taking down a wall a lamp and Zayn's stereo in the process, but. They're giggling, yelping about like children, soapy fingertips that slip up along Zayn's elbow when Liam nearly plows him onto the sofa. Ajax along his cheek when Liam corners him in his bedroom, ragged breaths when Zayn plummets back along his new bed, lifted chin and wiggling arms because he's sticky and soapy and he smells like lemons because it's Liam's soap- why else?

Liam's got Zayn's arms pinned above his head and he's got this manic grin playing along his lips and maybe Zayn likes the way he's pressing his hips down, knocking them together like loose dummies. These cut off giggles that end in sloppy kisses, misplaced arms, friction in all of the right places.

Pornagraphic moans less than thirty minutes later when Liam's shed his and Zayn's clothes, left them both a sweaty mess with his protected cock pressed along Zayn's hole and his hands steadied along sweaty, inkless back. 

(Because this is all sort of a habit now and Zayn can't exactly remember where it started.)

Liam's lips pressed to the sole tattoo printed along the nape of Zayn's neck as he pounds furiously in and out, in and out. Zayn's mind a complete, fucked mess as he balances pleasure over reality and, well-

_Fuck._

===

 

The sky is crimson castings, a faded out sun that retires along a plum and pomegranate backdrop. Building tops and tree tops scratched out like inky silhouettes flattened behind street posts. There's late night critters chirping, beeping, buzzing away and the air tells like an afternoon drizzle. A scent that Zayn decides fourteen steps from Liam's truck that he loves. It isn't smoky and thick like smog or toxic like sickness spreading easily through dense population. And he's content on the fact he's found one thing he likes here a lot more than he does in Bradford. 

(Or maybe there's more than one, but-)

He scuffs his shoes along puddled sidewalks, stuffs a grin into his shoulder everytime he catches a cut glimpse of Colin splashing, rain boots that sink him up to his knees and leave him plopping into every dip of cement he spots. 

Liam's got him held with one hand, tugged along beside him like he's some sort of overweight, out of control dog. Like Loki if he was a bit more fed, treats every time he doesn't scratch at the sofa or bark at helpless chihuahuas on the street. 

The Madonia is a large restaurant, big bay windows that overlooked old and chiseled cobble streets. A large carpet that leads along shaped bushes all the way to the front door. Velvet red and sparkling lights that Zayn blinks furiously at. Bows his head when he spots his sister and Louis perched along the main entrance. Waliyha strapped up in some stainless, white low-flow dress that brushes above her thighs and ties loose around her neck. Louis-  _the fucking bastard_ \- tucked into her side with his typical skinnies, hair a mess of sticky products, (Zayn can tell from his spot.) Scuffed up vans and a red button up, cuffs rolled along to his elbows and eyes fixed on his mobile as he thumbs away furiously at the Twit, if Zayn had to guess. 

He gulps, tilts his head and watches how Liam smiles down at Colin, a drifty pout to cherry red lips as the child points at his toes. 

If he's lucky he'll score a few more minutes to prepare himself because he can already feel the scolding coming for being a tad late or not even bothering to dress up "proper" nice and-

"Zayn!" 

 _Shit._  

He lifts his head, Waliyha, bright brown eyes as she steadies herself, clicks along padded carpet towards him. Open arms with a peck to his cheek and an off-putting squeal that Zayn cringes at because his ears just weren't ready. 

"Thought you'd back out again for sure." She teases, straps a finger along his buttons, seems to check if they're all in order before backing up.

"It's work, remember? I'm savin' me strikes." He mumbles, watches how she lifts her brows, allows her eyes drift a little bit to the left before-

"And this must be-"

Zayn's eyes follow through to Liam. His head lifted and hand lowered to clutch Colin's. Jittery little boots that smack along the pavement lightly every now and then. 

"Liam," he says, a genuinely kind tone as he steps forward, holds out his hand, steadily. 

"It's so lovely to meet you, Liam. Can't say I've heard much about you because this one over here is sealed up like a proper vault, but." She grins, nudges Zayn under the ribs when Liam chuckles, crinkles his eyes like always and pinches his lips into a flattened smile. 

"There he is, about time, fuckin' arse with your off schedule, what kind of assistant-" Louis shuffles beside him, knocks their hips and shovels an arm around Zayn's shoulders. 

Zayn's eyes collide with Liam's and his expression must say at all because Liam looks stunned, thins a cerise pink tongue out along his bottom lip and stands absolutely still. Shocked. 

"Oh- child, right, bloody fuck, my bad." Louis adds, but- "My god, oi- I mean, shouldn't say that, right? Who knows if the kid even believes in that load of bul-"

"Shut it, you!" Waliyha gawks, jets her hand out and smacks her clutch along his side.  

Louis winces, dramatic and fragile as always, but he recovers just in time to spit out a quick, "so sorry, really. M'Louis, Zayn's dad." Louis outstretches a hand and Zayn groans, lifts his chin and traces the pattern of clouds along the dimming sky. Hands shoved into his pockets so he doesn't reach out and-

"Kidding, mate. Kidding. He's me best mate." Louis slaps his hand to Liam's and Zayn can't help but feel a hundred percent responsible for the mortified expression plastered along Liam's cheeks. 

"Hi." He mumbles out, frozen. An ice sculpture. Magnificent, shiny-

 _Stop it_ , Zayn wracks along his brain and picks along the zipper on his jacket. A distraction from his incredibly obnoxious best mate.

"Hey there, little man." Louis leans low and Zayn gulps, turns to Waliyha before Louis can spoil Santa Claus or the tooth Fairy or tell the poor kid that life is an endless abyss of disappointment and he might as well sell his action figures for university books now. 

"We should go inside, yeah?" Waliyha beams suddenly, lifts her tone and throws in a small wave and 'hello there' to Colin who lifts a brow, confused. Shy. 

"C'mon,  _you_. Proper knob." She mutters, pinches at Louis' hip and stumbles along with him drilled to her side the whole way to the reservation booth. Like some fed up mother with her rambunctious, hurricane of a son. 

Zayn lingers, purses his lips together and winces like 'I'm sorry' when he catches eyes with Liam. 

"It's fine, they're lovely." Liam smiles, presses his hand to the small of Zayn's back and rubs up, up, up along his spine. It's a motion that has Zayn stuttering, recovering all the way until they're all piled at the entrance. Waliyha with her red carpet look and the three stooges behind her because- " _casual is always the go-to. Don't worry about it._ " according to Louis and Zayn wants to sock him for more reasons than one right now. 

"Malik, party of five, yes?" The woman at the desk wonders, lifts her chin and clutches her clipboard to her chest. Her name tag reads 'Raven' and Zayn thinks, stupidly, to the new X-men film that he's recently ordered on pay per view back at his flat with his newly set up telly thanks to Liam, but-

Wait. 

"Five?" Zayn wonders, taps a finger along his denim thigh and waits for the waitress to check off her list before nudging Waliyah lightly. 

"Yes?" She asks, irritated. 

"We're four." He corrects, only, well- "Right?" 

Waliyha jets her tongue out, stripes it over magenta glossed lips and directs her eyes away from Zayn, lingers them along the open lot and the many cars parked there. 

"Okay, er- you wouldn't make a scene in front of a child, right, Z?" She wonders and Zayn can feel his blood spike, his stomach tighten, and his heart thump a beat too fast all in the same instance. 

"What-"

"I may have invited mum." She spits out, panicked. Lingers her gaze and rises high along her heels, smiles into a quiet 'thank you' when the waitress returns, motions ahead, slips her clipboard back along the stand and clicks away past the main doors. Louis ahead, front and center thumbing away at his mobile while Liam and Colin trail slowly behind.

"You fucking-" Zayn chokes. 

"Shush! It isn't a big deal, she's got the weekend off and I thought she could get a little sneak peak on how well her brilliant son is doing?" Waliyha shrugs, lightly, begins to file through the entrance and the many crowded tables stuck to the inside. A maze of heads and flickering candles that light up the gloomy restaurant. 

"You could have warned me." Zayn settles, a lurch in his blood everytime he thinks this could possibly be a good idea. 

"She's your mum, Z. My goodness." Waliyha shoves him, clicks along tile as she follows behind Liam and Colin and Louis and- Zayn's eyes catch on a specific booth planted towards the back of the seating hall. Smooth cushions and glazed, wood tables with a cupped flickering candle that sits along smooth, white cloth. 

He gulps when he spots her, dark brown hair like splintering pine trunks along the reservoir back in Bradford. Skin tan and earrings like flashlights as they catch the flame and flicker along Zayn's vision. 

"There you all are, about time!" She chirps, lips the color of bleeding roses and perhaps a layer of pink, plush gloss. 

Waliyha is the first to cave, arms thrown around Trisha's neck as she giggles and greets her. Louis with a 'how are you doing, mum, good?' pat to her back that has her a flushed mess. 

And Zayn has this sort of feeling, this fuzz of guilt in his stomach that boils up and through his core when her eyes line along his. Like he's let her down- he has, multiple times but he's trying- like his last big bust was too far, too difficult to deal with. Like he's some sort of mistake in her eyes and he hates that. 

"Zayn," she steps forward, her lip trembles softly and Zayn swallows hard when she throws her arms around his neck, a pressed, "it's lovely to see you, my love."

He stays firm, tucks his arms along her back and drags in the scent of Dolce & Gabbana fresh as it lingers, takes over his senses. Pulls away when he remembers Liam, still lingering a short distance behind, watching over Colin as he lifts his chin, traces all of the lights that glow along the ceiling, tables and lanterns that hang from the walls. A roof of stars. 

"Hello there, darling, if I read Wali's message right," she pauses, racks her brain for a name before,  "you must be Liam?" Trisha wonders, steps forward and seals Zayn's spot in between, a surprised look thrown across Liam's features as he lifts his head, towers over Zayn's mum and smiles a bright smile. 

"Yes, that's me." He says, gasps lightly when Trisha yanks him in for a hug, mutters something in his ear that Zayn can't quite pick up on but he'll sack him on it later. 

Her eyes divert, lips parted as she coo's, "and who's this darling prince?" 

Colin twists his head around, stares intently up at Zayn's mum with sleepy eyes, yawns and blinks at her. Dumbfounded. 

"Colin," Liam answers, rests his palm lightly along his son's shaggy, curly mopped hair. 

"My goodness, it's lovely to meet you, Colin." She exclaims, bent over with a contagious smile and a baby voice that Zayn finds twisted in every way possible. 

But Colin giggles anyway, a smile like sunshine and puffy clouds that swirl along clear skies. Everything else that's appealing to the eye and perhaps a little more. His lips split and nose crinkled as he nods his head.

"A bit shy," Liam whispers.

"I see, no bother," Trisha smiles, sympathetically. 

"Why don't we get seated, yeah? M'starved and I've got an interview in the morning." Louis blurts, has Zayn snorting into his palm while Waliyha gapes, a nudge to the ribs and Trisha gasps. 

"An interview?" Waliyha wonders as she slides into the booth, eyes wide and mouth propped open as she shares glances back between Trisha and Zayn. 

Liam allows Colin to slide in, which he does, scoots along sinking, busted up leather and presses himself to Zayn's side. There's this mumble under his breath before he scoots further down, back into his father's side, but- Zayn can't ignore the spark of ' _getting there_ ' that hits his blood on contact. 

"Reckon he must be taking the piss, poor prat hasn't worked since that ratty toy store downtown." Waliyha laughs, earns a shove from Trisha who scolds, whispers a quick ' _manners_ ,' into her ear and leans back. 

"For your information, 'm beginning to apply myself." Louis gawks, offended, "just ask, Z. He'll tell ya'." 

Zayn squints, drums a jittery finger along his thigh and simmers into the way his mum, sister's and best mate's eyes draw into him, "yeah, he's serious."

"Well-" 

"I believe you're looking for the word  _congratulations_." Louis hums, sips along the icewater that the waiter shoveled onto their table a few minutes prior. Chilled, glass cups that drizzle condensation along the sides. 

"Not until you've got the job, lad. Then we'll talk." She tucks a smile away into her sip, gulps down water and Zayn presses back, tilts his head so he can watch Liam and the way he's poking along Colin's leg, tugging back his hand with a smirk every time Colin reacts, stuffs his face into his father's side and buries away small giggles. 

He likes the way they look together. Paired up like that's all they need. Each other. And Zayn thinks, rather lowly, he could back out of this without another call or daft text, not another midnight shag or sloppy kisses to seal the deal. 

He won't, though. Not unless- well, he doesn't know. He's got right now. And that's more than enough. 

"Liam, what do you do for work, darling?" Zayn's mum sits up, perks her lips in a way that's so ' _Trisha Malik_ ' he slumps, sinks into the cushion and wishes to disappear. 

"I've got a cafe in town, or like, diner?" He offers, a bit torn between the two words but thankfully Trisha doesn't question him. She nods, sympathetically and peeks her head over the table, a motherly smile as she shoots a quick round of peek-a-boo with Colin. 

Zayn watches, humorously as he presses into his father, a groggy yawn. 

"So it's like, a nice place? Lot's of business?" She gives up on harassing his child, presses her fingers along the table into some prosecution fold. Like this is all just some interrogation and- fuck, that's nagging, staggering at Zayn's thoughts full speed like a rabid animal. 

"We'll see. Isn't open yet, but." Liam trails a thumb along his bottom lip and Zayn studies how he pulls along the stubble that's lining his jaw, tracing up his chin and above his lips. 

"A work in progress?" She wonders and Liam nods, firm. 

"That my little Zaynie is helping you out with?" She asks, cheekily and Zayn groans.

" _Mum._ "

"I'm just curious, darling. You could have built that place for all I know, haven't seen you in a proper three months. It isn't like you fill me in anymore, so I've got to go hunting meself." She shakes her head, holds up a finger to attract a nearby, lingering waitress. 

"Zaynie," Liam whispers, amused into the crook of Zayn's neck once he leans in, stuffs a laugh away into tan, sensitive skin and blushes a hot pink when Louis shoots them both a comical glare. 

"Shut it," Zayn shoves at him, knocks their shoulders and nods when the waitress turns to them, Diet cola because he's not into drinking unless it's occasional sips of wine and perhaps some ginger vod nicked into the eggnog around Christmas, but. 

"Looks like you're finally makin' up for all of the trouble you've caused my poor little heart." Trisha hums, comically, like it's a joke but-

"A troublemaker? Who would have guessed." Liam pinches his eyes into a squint, bellows something short and identical to a chuckle. Calming, yet it draws Zayn's cheeks red.

"Oh, quite the little punk." His mum throws her hands up, ready to spill every horror tale she's ever walked through with him and he won't stand for it. 

Zayn groans, quirks his lips with a drawn out, "mum _mm._ " 

"Although I never doubted you'd find yourself such a godsend, darling." She beams, proud, glossy eyes like she's about to spill tears, "my sunshine." 

"Well, I'll keep 'im out of trouble, promise." Liam hums suddenly and Zayn ignores the tug in his heart.

"I may doubt  _that_  just a tad, though." She cackles, pouts along a smile like, ' _it's all in good fun, my love_ ' before fishing around in her purse for some unknown item. More lipstick, her mobile, perhaps a camera so she can snap a few pictures because, yeah, she's the same as she was when Zayn was 12, getting his picture snapped for his first day of Secondary. 

The following drinks are guzzled down fast, refill upon refill until orders are placed and food is brought along. A massive few appetizers in between that Zayn barley picks at. Louis is left munching away at celery,  _like a gerbil_ , Zayn thinks, fucked in the head as he shoo's away the comical thought. 

He's getting better, though, he swears. 

Liam's picking along boneless chicken, snipping a few bites when the attentions shifts from Waliyha and her dress to Zayn's mum and her new earrings. There's a steady hand along Zayn's back the whole time through, slow, purred circles that he sinks back into, bends his spine and blurs out the world with. 

Colin's humming away by the time the main courses arrive, his fingers coloring along napkins with a pack of crayons he had tucked away in his pocket. Blue and green streaks that curve up and down.  _Waves_ , Zayn assumes, a sandy yellow to go along with it and a few stick figures lined up along the scratchy shore. Two. One with short legs, one tall, that hold along smaller hands.

 _Liam_ , Zayn thinks with a smirk printed to his lips.

He continues to watch Colin's finger curve around waxy material, a new figure etched in with a spiked up quiff, smudgy black hair and-

Zayn swallows hard, presses thin, chapped lips together and tries not to gawk for too long. Doesn't want to throw the child off balance or alert him like he's done something wrong, but, fuck. 

It isn't like he  _has_  - done something wrong. 

Zayn just doesn't recognize this feeling. This foreign boostage of a heart rate that thumps behind bone cages in his chest. This bolt of electricity that runs up his spine and has him tilting his head away, tracing the droplets of steady water loose, sliding down the glass of his cup. A distraction. 

"He's got your eyes, y'know." Trisha beams from the other side of the table, suddenly. And Zayn can see Liam's head lift from the corner of his eye. 

"A precious brown,  _gorgeous_." She hums and Liam flushes pink, a short ' _thank you_ ' slipping past his lips and floating along the air like a soft melody. 

"Bet he has his mother's laugh, s'usually how that works," she adds with a sympathetic smile and Zayn tenses instantly, shifts his gaze and watches as Liam gulps. Nerve and memory and every possible feeling of dread pouring into his cheeks, darkening the glow and bringing him under. 

Zayn's hand jets out, not too quickly, but quickly enough and he presses his thumb along Liam's denim thigh, airless strokes that have him nodding into his meal and loosening up after a few breaths. 

His mum seems to notice trouble and nearly chokes on her meal when- "Oh my goodness, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, no. It's no problem, really." Liam rushes out, his eyes low as they trace over Zayn's fingers, "no way of telling, yeah?" 

Trisha nods, purses her lips and wipes along her mouth with a dark clothed napkin. 

And Zayn only settles when Liam strings his fingers over Zayn's, a warming palm, a quick flicker in his eyes when he mumbles, "S'okay."

Waliyha and Louis are stuck in their own small bubble of conversation. Banter over the 'by far best footy team' at Bradford high and the most successful play since 2010. Pointless talk that doesn't cast Zayn's interest too long. So instead he traces his eyes along smudged, white table cloth. Colin, propped up on Liam's knee as he fills in a setting sky. An image Zayn can't quite get out of his head.

A scribbled in beach, choppy waves, a sunset and-

_Them._

(Because that word is beginning to settle into his head now. And slowly, he's sort of in love with it.)

 

===

 

The night is quiet, flickering street lamps that catch on and off like fireflies in dense wooding. Dry cement because they're been cramped inside for hours waiting for a bill, but Zayn won't complain as long as Liam hasn't lost all of his sanity. 

Zayn's stuffed into the passenger seat while Liam taps away at his steering wheel, Colin propped up along the backseat window, nose pressed along the glass as his eyes catch along blurry street posts and flickering headlights. 

"M'sorry about, er." Zayn mumbles after a long while of nothing. Silence that seems to suffocate them, closed windows and stuffy sniffles here and there. 

Liam lifts his brow, keeps his finger curled around tight, black leather. 

"That whole situation. I had no idea me mum would ambush us like that and, uh." He cuts off when Liam coughs, shakes his head and reaches a hand out, nimble fingers that sit along the dark washed denim of Zayn's jeans. 

"No bother, man." He shrugs, hints something like a smile along peeled lips. 

Zayn sinks into his seat, watches the way that the moon dips, half held over the quiet town. Nothing but the engine and the beat of some remixed pop song humming through the truck speakers. 

"Should I drop you?" Liam wonders at the intersection by Bulwell, a half sort of plea to his tone like he doesn't want Zayn to agree, but at the same time-

"Yeah, I've got work, early n'd all that." Zayn says, presses his fingertips along his seatbelt and peaks his head to leak his eyes along smudgy street benches and blurs of late night prowlers still left on the streets, stranded because of the shitty bus schedule and lack of tube transportation. 

(Although it isn't all that much of a necessity because this place is small, small, small.)

"Right,"Liam nods, like he should have known, like he should have just assumed that 'no' would have been the answer and he shouldn't have been so stupid to think- 

Zayn presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, pushes along the words he wants to say because he forgot to before they hopped into the truck, forgot to after Trisha threw her arms around Liam, kissed his cheek senseless until he was red in the face and wished him everything blissful in the world. A cheeky smile thrown out to Colin by Waliyah and a high five that was a bit forced from Louis, but, well. 

One of his hands is lost, fucked about in his messy hair and he knows he probably needs a cut, but he can't be bothered.

But he finally mumbles out a slow, "thank you," when Liam pulls upside his curb, his street, his building. Windows barley a glow as they line up the bricked side. 

"'Course. It was, er- fun?" Liam offers, unsure as he leans over. 

Zayn smirks, "fun?" 

"Yeah, fun. Like, good food, laughy bunch." Liam adds and Zayn kicks along the pavement once he slams the door shut. Holds down the surprised gurgle of ' _really?_ ' he has stuck in his throat. 

"Laughy bunch my arse." Zayn giggles from the window, props his arms together and rests his chin in the middle. He can see in his range of vision; Colin. His eyes heavy and lashes thick as they bat away at his cheeks, sleepy yawns that fog along clear glass. 

"It was awful, admit it." Zayn says after a minute and Liam cracks. 

"It wasn't exactly dreadful, but-" 

"But?" Zayn eggs him on, playful. 

"But I'd do it again." Liam says, lowers his eyes and runs his thumb along his wheel, back pressed against leather seating that must stick to his skin because-  _fuck_ , it's humid. 

Zayn pinches his eyes, tucks a smile away into his shoulder before backing up. He doesn't bother saying goodbye or even waving when Liam starts up his engine, a roar, puff after puff of charcoal clouds that skip out past his exhaust pipe all the way down the street and away. 

Because he knows he'll see him again. 

 

===

 

Tuesday night is groggy. Yawns that stretch Zayn's mouth and have him blinking away gloss everytime he hits a key on his keyboard. His fingers are sore, lips split from too many nervous tugs whenever he misspells a word.

He doesn't like to think he's shit at his job, but he's- well, he is. 

Perhaps it's because the clock reads half past nine and he hasn't slept since three this morning. He's running on redbull and a cigarette break every forty-five minutes. Stuffed up against the back entrance. Knocking along the window everytime he wishes to enter because he keeps forgetting his key and the janitor, Jackson, seems to be the only lad around. 

No stay-late workaholics who strive for perfection. Itch for that rush of getting something done early, or coming up with a beyond sick advertisement idea at 12 in the morning because that's when they think the best. When they're the most sharp. 

Zayn's decided he isn't one of those people when he ends up having to re-type his final bullet a good five times at quarter past ten. His eyes strained as he sits back, presses his palms along his forehead and stretches down along his skin, wrinkling his nose, dragging his lips and rolling his head back to just breathe. 

It's almost instantly after he closes his eyes that there's a light knock to cardboard thin walls. 

Zayn gulps, sits up and licks along his cracked lips, eyes in search for the source- (if there even is one, because he may very well be going absolutely nutty)- that echos raps to and from, bouncing off of his ears. 

"Shouldn't you be long gone by now?" 

Harry's voice is soft, calm like still waters and floating buoys in small carved harbours. Hair a ferocious mess as it drapes down, a shaken hand every few seconds to brush loose strands up past his forehead. Lips pink, indented and dimples cracked everytime he quirks his lips. Which seems to be quite often. A habit, Zayn thinks, relates his own and blinks up at his boss. 

"M'here." He mutters, obviously. Tone tied with exhaustion as he holds down a yawn beginning to barrel up his throat. 

"One of my hardest workers, mate." Harry cracks a smile and Zayn's brow lifts, arches with a twitch because-  _what?_

"Proper assistant. Don't think I've ever told you that, but," Harry drums his fingers along Lou's desk as he wanders in. Leans his arse back along thick wooden top and flattens his palms out for steady support. 

"Yeah?" Zayn wonders, "thanks, I, er. I didn't think much of meself." He admits, stupidly. Like some uni-lad desperate for money to pay off his books. Itching for sympathy and pity because his life is just so goddamn hard. 

Not hard, pathetic, but. 

"Well, you should think highly of yourself man." Harry nods, thinned lips and pine green eyes that slice through Zayn like razor blades. 

"I'll try it out," Zayn complies, keeps his feet steady and hopes his energy high will hold off until he's forced into walking home because it's nights just like these where he misses the final coach and ends up kicking at stones, ears swallowed up by his beats as he wanders through a soundless town. 

"Actually, it's people like you I'd like to keep around, right?  _The valuables_." Harry adds, reels Zayn in with his hook and his mystery and- is this an illusion?

"I'm valuable? I- how?" Zayn asks, pure curiosity nipping at his brain, "not like I'm questioning you. I'm just, skeptical?" He offers and Harry shrugs into a smile, eyes squinted. 

"I'm just going t' get right down to the point here," he begins, fingers pressed together over his chest. Skinnies and Saint Laurent Classics a color like sawdust and cinnamon as he taps them lightly along scuffed tile. 

"We're moving." 

Zayn's lips part and his finger twitch in his lap, he allows the words to sink in slowly, slowly until- "what?"

"Locations. Nothing major. Across the country, but at least we aren't shippin' off to the states, eh?" Harry sputters out quick, jumbled words that puzzle inside Zayn's head until he unravels them. 

"Across the country." Zayn repeats, dazed like, half asleep and ready to collapse. 

"Correcto," Harry lifts his fingers, points at Zayn and teeter-totters along Lou's space, shifts her papers around a bit and Zayn cringes because he knows she'll have a fit when she's in tomorrow. 

"London, mate. Big things." Harry chimes, proud. 

Zayn's lips part, voiceless. 

"So, I guess all I need to know is if you're in or out, right? Sign you off on my good-list?" Harry chuckles, low raspy chords that vibrate his chest and send chills along Zayn's spine. 

Zayn sits there, stunned, surprised, overwhelmed with- contentness? It's good, it's really fucking good because he's  _done_   _something_. He's accomplished  _something good_. He's made something out of nothing and that should be _so_  incredibly exciting for him yet his heart doesn't speed up in the least. His skin doesn't rise with goosebumps and his blood doesn't catch the memo of ' _you're an ace worker and I want you with me until the end_ ' that Harry seems to be programming through. 

"Of course you c'n have time, I know you've probably settled in a bit, made some buds, yeah? Small town, good for that." Harry nods, taps his fingers along splintered wood and sits up, "just bad for what we're doing  _here._ "

Zayn swallows down the crackle of air lodged in his throat, presses the 'buds' he has pinned under his tongue down, down, down. Sniffs and nods, forcefully. Hates how he feels so, dissatisfied, smashed,  _fucked_.

"Just let me know by the end of the month, mate. We're outta here by July. So-" Harry pauses, purses his lips together before speaking, "s'all up to you." 

Zayn sucks in a silent breath, watches as Harry kicks his feet along the welcome rug Lou's set up. A ridiculous attempt at homey and 'a lighter business approach' because they're both slaves in this business and why not?

 _But it's better than before_ , Zayn has to keep reminding himself. 

It is. 

"Yeah," he snaps out of his trance. Blood poisoned with sleep and his eyes ready to wedge shut for the next dozen hours. 

"I'll see you around, then." Harry signs off, spins on his heel right when he's about to exit, "and you'll have those add flyers on my desk by 8 tomorrow, won't you?" 

"Of course, yeah," Zayn clarifies, thumbs along his bottom lip and spins slowly in his chair, makes sure to hit the save key a good five times before he turns. 

And it's the sound of boots along freshly cleansed tile all the way to the lifts. A ding that rattles Zayn's ears and has him wondering if he's a right knob for being the slightest bit torn. Then again he's- well, fuck. His thoughts are an absolute mess and he can't think. His lungs itch for a cigarette and he fears that even the steady flow of smoky nicotine won't be able to calm his jittery hands, flashing thoughts and- decisions, decisions, decisions.

 

===

 

There's lights. 

Real, set up, working lights that flicker and shine along real, drilled in, tile flooring. There are booths with cushions and padded backrests and the order counter is quite on yet, but it's getting there and Zayn sighs happily into Liam's shoulder as they cram into the last table in the back. His eyes loose as they admire blush red walls and silver shimmers. Small, echoing cheers from Niall that burst like firecrackers over London on the Fourth of July. There's this fresh scent to the air, febreze, lemons and citrus fruits Zayn can't help but crinkle his nose at. 

The sky is a mess of gold and magenta that spiral out of control like acrylic paints splashed along fresh canvas. A scene Zayn can paint in his head and wash away with the taste of bitter bud lights because Niall's brought in a fridge full for him and his chef in training, Andy. 

All because Liam's stocking up. Ready to open in about a month's worth of time and-

Well, it isn't exactly fair. The way Zayn keeps his truth locked up somewhere deep in his head. This limber possibility that he may never see final scenes or order muck-ups. 

(But he doesn't want to think about it-

 -not here.)

He wants to think about now, now, now. This moment where Colin's tucked into Liam's opposite side, a giggle everytime Caroline pulls a funny face or loses at a match of tic-tac-toe they're battling about with on a piece of scrap paper. 

"Unbelievable!" She yelps suddenly, lips pursed together with a bogus hint of frustration. 

"Beat me again, right champ, innhe?" Caroline shakes her head, points at Colin and smiles something short when he giggles, "and now he's mocking my losing's. You've raised a proper devil, Liam Payne." 

"A darling one," Cher butts in, shoves a smile away into her shoulder when Liam lifts his head. 

"He can't help the fact his son kicks arse in napkin games." Niall bellows from the kitchen, an infectious laugh that hits the air and has Caroline huffing. 

"Why don't you get out here and bring us some food while you're still sober, yeah, Horan?" She yelps, tapping her bright pink nails along thin can. Her fourth bud light and Zayn's never seen her like this. 

Frilly and careless and a little bit dull but that's okay because she's teasing and having a ball. 

"I could bring ya' some raw steak if you keep actin' like a bit-"

"Oi! respect!" A new voice shovels out, something deep and the table roars in laughter. 

"At least someone in this town knows how to speak to a lady. Terrible." Caroline hums, blushy cheeks because she may have a thing for Andy. 

Or she's just fed-up with Niall's filthy jokes and teasing nicknames. 

"A princess," she adds, buzzed with alcohol and giddy off of just- life. 

"Like the Cinderella story, yeah?" Cher pokes along the salad plate, thin cut celery, crunchy carrots and creamy dip. 

"Precisely." 

There's light giggles in between short stories and Zayn settles into it all. Likes the way that that Liam's cheeks pinch when Caroline tells every time she's taken him out to see a film and he's sobbed like a kid. Or the other times where she's been babysitting Colin, clueless and coming across Batman footies stuffed under the bed. 

"Bloody liar," Liam mutters into Zayn's neck once Caroline's finished but she sits up, holds a finger in the air and protests otherwise. Liam sighs, nudges his nose along Zayn's cheek and mutters a soft, "sort of." 

"Hope you know he's a sap f'r all that. A right geek," she giggles and Zayn keeps his laugh low, traces a thumb along hard table and drops his hands to his lap. 

"Is it so wrong I wanted to match with me son?" Liam wonders, defensive, but teasing. 

"You didn't let me finish," Caroline lifts a brow, "a right geek but a dapper one nevertheless."

"Only sometimes." Niall calls suddenly, close by as he slides into the booth, a cheeky lifted smile that leaves Caroline swatting at him, playfully, "most time's he's just an absolute bugger." 

"Most accurate thing this dolt has said all night." She cracks a smile, something sunny with heart strummed lips. 

"Oi, you're killing me." Liam pouts, wounded and Zayn shifts his chin along Liam's shoulder. 

"Nah, mate. This is for not installing an air conditioner in the kitchen because you're so fuckin' cheap-"

Liam's arms jet out and muffle over Colin's ears. The kid lifts his head, surprised but tinged with confusion as Liam glares at Niall, removes his palms when he's sure the fiery blonde is finished. 

"Would you watch it?" Liam huffs, teasing, "and m'not cheap, m'smart with me money." 

"Yeah, yeah, Payno. That's why m'sweating loads into your chicken risotto." Niall waves him off, humour glittered into his blue, lightning eyes. 

"Your father's a cheapskate, mate." He adds, leans low, cups his palms and waits for Colin's nose to crinkle at the words. 

"Would you quit pickin' on 'im? He's a good lad, means well." Andy bellows from near by, head stuck out past the order counter.

"Glad someone appreciates me smarts," Liam sinks back, tickles at Colin's chin. 

"Don't get used t' it," Caroline and Niall both say in unison. Contagious laughter that spills instantly and has them both red in the cheeks. 

And Zayn can't help the shaky giggle he stuffs away into his own shoulder, sinks into the cushions and soaks in the feeling of this place. The way it feels- 

(He knows the word he should use. That one syllable he's got tucked under his tongue, saving for when he's really back in Bradford with Jax and Chris and- 

-no, no. Not  _that_  place, but somewhere close.)

 

===

 

It's around 10 pm when Niall's smashed off his arse. Blinding, hollering he calls singing as he stumbles over the microphone cord. Him and Andy and a giggling Cher and Colin as the watch from a set of chairs set up along the riser. 

(Drunken karaoke because Liam's pretty much given up on the whole diner singing theory and is just about ready to toss the heap of junk-

-and Zayn isn't complaining.)

There are beer cans settled up into a tower along the table in the back. Something frilly that's still standing and it's sort of surprising because Andy worked on it for a good twenty minutes, eyes pinched into concentration with a slurred ' _bollocks_ ' everytime he knocked his elbow along the surface. 

Zayn sits along one of the stools, eyeing the mess of drunken employee's Liam's rounded up over the past year. A work in progress that's almost reached it's end. 

Liam's fiddling with the stereo, turning it up loud and watching with pinched eyes as his two idiot employee's throw arms around each other, singing (or screeching) out the beginning lines to Full House and nearly collapse into an empty booth once they stray off of the stage. 

Liam with a 'wrong tune, lads' printed to his lips as he adjusts the knobs along the boom box.

"Messy, messy, messy." Caroline hums suddenly from beside him and Zayn jumps only a little. 

"Load of morons, all of 'em." She smiles, "especially that knob Payne. The delicate lads are the most reckless ones." 

Zayn lifts his lip into an almost grin, keeps his eyes on Liam and the way he accepts the microphone Andy's handing out to him, slurring like a moron as he claps his hands together for Liam to bust out a tune. 

He shakes his head with a laugh and Zayn snorts, amused. 

"He's a keeper, though. I've seen how he works, love." Caroline says from beside him and Zayn tunes back in. 

He doesn't exactly know what to say, so he just listens, drops his eyes up and down every now and then to signal he's paying attention. 

"Him and his darling boy." She diverts her eyes to Colin, giggling and pointing at his father who's beginning to hum out a quaky ' _Sunday mornin' rain is fallin'_ into the shitty microphone.

"Poor child, can't suck in enough air for his precious little heart to hold." Caroline shakes her head, still buzzed off of her previous beer, "he told you, yes?" 

Zayn nods, swallows down the collection of pity he holds for the kid and his difference to the world. 

(Because that's all it is. A difference.)

His eyes swallow over Colin, knocking his small head back and forth to the tune of ' _That may be all I need, in darkness she is all I see._ ' That Liam's beginning to really get into, rosy red cheeks as he smiles and sways his hips to the beat. 

"Of course he did, you're practically part of our little family." Caroline giggles, harmless. But Zayn's breath hitches in his throat, he gulps and bows his head low. 

That one word sticking into his head, tacked up with bold print.  _Family_. 

"And it isn't much, dear, trust me, we're all a bit dysfunctional" She adds, smiles up at Liam and the way he's shoving at Niall, fiddling with the speaker volume and kicking his shoes at Andy who's mucking up his own set of lyrics. 

"But we've got each other."

She purses her lips, knocks her head back once she seems to realize her serious tone.  

"I'm blubbering like an idiot! Look at me. My bother, lovely." She presses her fingertips to the golden string of her necklace, taken back with a short-lived giggle. 

Zayn smiles, tilted, bows his head and listens to the music and the way Liam's cracky voice hits the air. The absolute knob.

' _Fingers trace your every outline, paint a picture with my hands._ '

"You'll stick around, won't you?" She wonders and Zayn's blood runs frigid. Ice cold as he rocks back, leans along unfinished countertop. 

"Uh, I-"

"For the boy." She adds, serious, serious, serious seeping back into her expression. 

"He's taken quite a liking to you." 

Zayn taps his fingertips along the denim of his jeans, slow breaths that startle his heart and have it thumping away. A runaway train as he shoves both of his hands into his pockets. 

"Tells me about how he thinks your hair is ' _sick_ '" She quotes and Zayn can't help but laugh, stuff it away into his shoulder as Liam points at him, some stupid smile plastered to his lips as he belts out a rushed and cheesy, ' _Sunday mornin' rain is fallin' and I'm calling out to you._ '

"Did you teach 'im that word?" Caroline laughs and Zayn shrugs. 

"He could've picked it up, dunno." 

"Dunno." She repeats, hands on her hips. "Ridiculous." 

"You two, proper knobs." She sighs, lips pressed to each other firmly as Liam steps off of the riser, eyes pinned along Zayn with a steady ' _I'm a flower in your hair_ ' that he hits quite nicely. A note sending shivers up Zayn's spine and drawing his cheeks a bloody red. 

Zayn shakes his head free of a smirk and lines his feet up along tile as he shifts. Liam, resting the microphone cord along hard seating. Cushionless. 

Caroline wonders off to scold Niall for mucking up the radio and Zayn's left with Liam. Chocolate, honey-swirled eyes and a contagious grin ticking along his lips. 

"You're an idiot," Zayn says, teasing. 

"A  _cool_  idiot who can sing?" Liam offers and Zayn allows him to step ahead, press their toes together and lean in close. 

Light bickering and steady banter in the background as he knocks their hips together. 

"I'd give ya' a 5-10." Zayn nods, content. 

"Not even a 6?" Liam asks and Zayn clamps along his bottom lip as he shakes his head. 

"Ouch, mate. Thought I did pretty sick like." Liam winces, lips inches away with cherry red glossings everytime he dips his tongue past for a swipe. 

"Sick like," Zayn repeats with a snort and doesn't flinch in the least when Liam leans forward, seals the space between them and slots their lips together. Sugary sweets and a bitter hint of bud light that lingers, sparks along Zayn's tongue and has him frozen in the moment. Slow motion. 

And he chews on the inside of his cheek when Liam pulls away, the idiot, a cheeky, smiling mess when he whispers a small, "sick like," along Zayn's cheek.

 

===

 

The sky is a black abyss by the time everyone piles out, Cher stuck driving Niall and Andy home. Caroline guzzling water until half past 11 and offering to take Colin up to bed while Liam cleans up. 

Zayn traces along silver linings, curves his thumb under his lips when he pushes past swinging, kitchen doors. 

Liam's there, drying off his hands with some stained rag and knobbing along the faucet until the water trickles turn into slow drops. 

His eyes lift when Zayn comes into view and he smiles something surprised, "here to help me clean up?" 

Zayn snorts, humorously, "reckon you've already got everything squared away."

The kitchen is spotless, a few dishes scrubbed clean because plastic plates were easily disposed of in the garbage and red-solo cups seemed to be the accessory of interest for the night. 

"Eh, while you're here you could mop?" Liam offers and Zayn sways backwards. 

"Shut it." 

Liam laughs, boomerang echoes that bounce off of the walls and splinter along Zayn's ears. He trails forward, leans back along the counter top and watches as Liam's eyes glint in dim kitchen light. 

"Bunch of fuckers, those lads." Liam mutters, bows his head with a shallow smile, "rowdy as all hell, right?"

Zayn shrugs, careless. 

"Young and reckless." He says under a steady breath, kicks the tip of his shoe along Liam's and bites at a smile when Liam kicks back. Stupid. 

"Niall's just a proper twat, stained me counters the first day I had 'em in." Liam says, knitted brows as he turns to look at his kitchen, "stainless steel my arse." 

Zayn chews along his cheek, shoves his hands into his pockets with a smirk attached. Tied along with every filthy thought brewing in his head. 

"Might as well stain 'em more, then, right?"

Liam's eyes dart from the tables and they pin on Zayn like tacks. His breath hitches and Zayn doesn't miss the way he gulps, shifts his hips and rubs along the nape of his neck. 

"I've jus' been thinking." Zayn hums, calm.

"About?" Liam wonders, voice scratchy with an emotion Zayn can't quite put a name to. 

"About shagging you, like, on top. What it'd be like-" He cuts off when Liam whimpers, plump lips pressed against each other as he shifts, "tight, warm-"

"Fuck," Liam mutters, trembling hands along the counter when Zayn lingers closer, eyes careful as they study him. 

"Bet you'd love it, getting fucked by my cock, right?" He wonders, filthy and Liam nods his head, frantic. 

Zayn smirks, loves the way Liam shifts, desperate like along hard surface, presses himself along the counter for friction, anything to get himself ease. 

"Want it, babe?" Zayn whispers, closer now, groin pressed along Liam's thigh as his chin rests on a broad shoulder. Thick, muscled skin. 

Liam nods again, dribbles along something he mutters but Zayn can't exactly hear him, "what was that?" 

Liam's fingers grip along hard surface, white knuckles until he swallows, spits out a rushed, "want your-"

"My what?" Zayn wonders, eggs him on and shifts his hips, his fat cock swelled as it presses along Liam's side, "all you have t' do is say it, babe. Like- m'right here." 

Liam whimpers, shakes and pinches his eyes shut before- "want your cock, _fuck_ , Zayn." 

Zayn lifts his lips into a devilish grin, presses his toes into tile and steadies Liam's hips with the palms of his hands, kisses along the nape of his neck, finger lifted from his left side up and under his flimsy t-shirt. Breath hot as he huffs along Liam's skin, dips his chin low. 

"Thought about where I'd drill ya'," Zayn hums, "against a wall, in the shower all wet like-" He pauses, presses thin lips along Liam's birthmark, soft brushes and thick lashes along tan skin. 

" _Kitchen counters_." 

" _Shit_ , Zayn." Liam whimpers, breath fucked as he grinds back. 

"Here, right here." Zayn says,  lowers his fingers and presses the curve of his cock along Liam's arse. Drags his nails low over the dip in Liam's back, tugs along baggy jeans and whisks in the scent of Liam, Liam, Liam. 

"Yeah, here, now." Liam gapes, parted lips as Zayn pulls along his belt loops, "please."

Zayn huffs, drops loose denim past Liam's hips and fiddles along his own, shedded pants within seconds and ragged breaths as he grinds the outline of his cock along the crease in Liam's briefs. 

His fingers trace along elastic bands, one hand ridden up Liam's back while he shoves at loose fabric. Zayn grunts every time Liam backs his arse back and Liam mimics the mule every time Zayn repeats filthy nothings along the shell of Liam's ear. 

"So hot for me, bent over the sink with me cock pressed to your arse," Zayn huffs, heated, yanks along his briefs and slips them mid-way, down his thighs to rest, "properly pornagraphic." 

"Says the prat who ambushed me," Liam mutters, tugs along his lower lip and presses himself to the sink. Pressure. 

"Pin it," Zayn leans forward, buries a laugh into the nape of Liam's neck and reaches his hands around a thick torso. Fingers jittery as they dip low under elastic waistband, tips brushing along Liam's swelling cock.

Liam gulps, presses himself back and Zayn fucking loves the sounds he's making. Whimpering, groaning low and huffing every time Zayn's fingers squeeze around his thick prick. Slow strokes that draw his body rigid. 

"You don't have to-" Liam mutters, quietly, "like, get me off. I'm fine without it." 

Zayn presses his lips along hot skin, muffled a chuckle into Liam's shirt, "shut it, s'hot." 

Liam melts back and Zayn fidgets along his own cock, bends just enough to press it along Liam's bare arse. Removed briefs while slow jerks distract him. 

"Condom and lube?" Zayn wonders, tingles that stutter his words and run along his stiff shaft. 

Liam curses into his elbow, buries a muffled "upstairs" into his shoulder, but Zayn just smirks, contagious. 

"Reckon I'll have t' open you up myself, yeah? Tasting you, like,  _fuck_." Zayn whimpers at the thought, jerks his cock a few more times before dipping low, ignoring the light plead against it all from Liam because- Zayn  _wants_  to do this. 

He's  _wanted_  to do this. 

 _Thought_  about this. 

His palms spread over bare cheeks, teeth like fangs as they dig into his bottom lip. His eyes flicker along the dip, Liam's crack sealed until Zayn pushes his hands to the side. A tight hole on full display that strums a feeling of need deep in his stomach. A released hormone that spikes Zayn's blood and has him dipping forward, outstretched tongue as he laps along ringed muscle. 

"Fuck," Liam breathes above him, arse loose as Zayn buries himself deep, nose pressed along hot skin. Musk and sweat and a bitter sweet taste but all he can think about is  _Liam_. And this never fading spark of desire.

"Taste so good babe, s'like fuckin' heaven." Zayn groans, neglected cock swinging between his legs as he kicks at his pants and briefs, loses them for good along fresh kitchen tile as he positions himself. On his knees with his face buried in Liam and he couldn't ask to be any place better. 

"Oh, god." Liam arches his back, leans up and swallows hard at the air. 

"Good?" Zayn wonders, leans in and twists his tongue along flexing rings. 

"Insane," Liam fires back, an absolute mess as Zayn reaches up under his stomach, fingertips tracing the underside of his stiff prick. A leaking mess as it spits out tears of precum along Zayn's palm. 

"No," Liam pries at his hand, mouth propped open and eyes drilled shut, "no, I c'n like, I c'n come like this." 

Zayn dips his hand back, places, stretches his fingers along either side of Liam's crack, prying him open like stuck elevator doors in one of his favorite horror films. 

"Yeah?" Zayn wonders, "think ya' c'n nut off without it?" 

"Yeah," Liam huffs, rushes out a ragged breath and settles back onto Zayn's tongue once he's steadied his breathing. 

Zayn doesn't question any of it, instead he gulps, the tarty taste of Liam on his tongue as he presses his nose forward, a sticky mess but he fucking loves how filthy it is. Loves the tangy, sweetness that comes along with palmed out moans and pup like whimpers. 

"Hittin' all the right spots?" Zayn wonders, bites along his lip as he sits back, dips a finger and traces along Liam's hole. Saliva covered and saturated. 

"Would you just-" Liam cuts off, moans loud and restless when Zayn pries his tongue along his hole. Rough dips that have Liam trembling and stuff. 

"Fuck, Zayn, m'gonna-" 

"Gonna come, babe? Do it." Zayn spits, filthily, laps along his pink, puckering hole. 

Liam's hips stutter, he draws back and Zayn can tell he's lost it when he mutters out something that sounds a lot like gibberish, moans that streak the walls and spread a fresh layer of dirt along the kitchen sink. 

"So fuckin' hot, nutting all over your freshly washed dishes." Zayn smirks, teasing. 

"Shut it, you're  _ruining_  me," Liam breathes, strokes a finger over his glistening cock. Pulled back skin and a head, slit bubbling out white ribbons of clumpy come that Zayn groans at when he stands, pressed lips because he's still so hard and Liam's half wrecked with ragged breaths between heart beats. 

He steps forward, presses the tip of his cock along Liam's arse cheek, mutters a curious, "still want me?" 

Liam gulps down a slow laugh, grunts and bucks back a little, "yeah, yeah, you c'n just like, go for it." 

"We haven't got condoms, mate and I dunno if you'd-"

"Like it bare?" Liam offers and Zayn stands still. 

"Yeah, I mean, it's your call, right?" He says, considerate.

Liam shifts his hips, bends low and leaves himself on full display. 

"Finish," he orders, low, a more sturdy tone like he needs this. 

"Are you sure?" Zayn asks, just because he feels like he has to. Just because this isn't just one of Niall's pointless shags he's always spilling about when Colin's still in classes and Liam's left Zayn to go pick him up. This is meaningful, true and-

"I want you to shag me, Zayn." Liam pleads, "fuck me till I can't feel me shins, yeah? C'mon." 

Zayn gulps, stutters only a little as he presses his hands down gently along Liam's lower bac, traces his thumb over the bump at the end of his spine, dips his pointer and marks a small circle, a pattern, something soothing he hopes before pressing his tip to Liam's hole. 

"Good?" Zayn wonders, but-

"Jesus. I'd like to feel you in me at some point, mate." Liam scolds, restless and Zayn complies to orders, slips nice and steady into Liam's stretched entrance. 

He gasps almost immediately and Zayn keeps himself still, waits for Liam to give him permission or press back or do something that will make this less burning. 

After a few seconds Liam mumbles out a messy, "okay, s'good," before Zayn sinks further, arse clenched as he begins to feel the incredible heat, tightness of Liam's walls attempting to close around him. 

"Fuck, babe," Zayn groans, "tight like fucking hell." 

Liam sticks his arse up, presses his arms to the counter and buries his nose between slippery wrists. Hums along a rough moan before packing it away in his chest. 

Zayn's nearly eased all the way in when he can hear Liam's breathing, rough and startling and he almost backs out. 

"Alright?" He asks and Liam shutters. 

"Fuck, yeah, m'fine, just- move? It'll be better." He swears, lip pinned as he pushes his hips back. 

Zayn slips his fingers along sweaty skin, clamps down on either sides of Liam's torso and thrusts out. He can feel the stretching, the etching along his cock and he rolls his head back while he slots back in. 

Slow, slow, slow until Liam's steadied himself, even begun to drill back a little bit and Zayn takes the hint. 

"Want me t' fuck ya?" 

Liam grunts, fucked, "Zayn-"

"All you have to do is tell me what you want, babe." Zayn teases, slows his hips again and begins to pull out. 

"No, I mean, fuck, yeah. Shag me,  _pound_  me," Liam rushes out, breathless, desperate and Zayn loves this side of Liam. Not the calm, gentle side with warm brown eyes like cinnamon rolls, or careful, witty words between steady pumps in his bedroom. 

This aching Liam who's  _so_  hard even after he's already reached his orgasm. In the sink. In  _his_  kitchen sink. 

"Y'know, thought about you last night." Zayn breathes, ragged, "nutted off thinking about how you'd take me. If you'd let me fuck you, proper." 

Liam moans into the dripping sink and, fuck, this act is filthy in all of the best ways but maybe Zayn's sort of in love with that. 

So he thrusts forward, slow slaps of his balls against Liam's wet arse, precum smeared along his pink hole as Zayn slams forward, "takin' my cock so well." 

" _Fuck,_ " Liam huffs, grips along the 'stainless' surface as he shakes, trembles. 

"So fucking hot, mate. Still got the taste of ya' on my tongue and s'incredible." Zayn whimpers, sweat beaded along his forehead, dripping down his neck as he slows, steadies his hips and pounds ruthlessly into tight, foreign heat. 

It's new. Not the shagging because they've been at it for weeks, but  _Liam_. Feeling Liam like  _this_. Feeling tight walls clamp around his fattened cock, pressure and heat like fire and the buzzing that comes along with sex that zigzags up his spine and through his bones. 

Liam's silent, low, growls for moans as he takes everything that's being given to him. 

"Been thinking about how you'd feel, all tight, bloody fuck, this is so much better than thinking." Zayn swallows, shifts his hands and Liam quakes. 

"M'not gonna last," he mutters, voice bouncing off of the sink and hitting Zayn's ears. His hands slip and he reaches under Liam's belly, feels around until his fingers loop around his erection, a slick prick that he jerks easily. Peels the foreskin back and presses his chin to Liam's spine, slow and sloppy thrusts.

"Not gonna-"

"S'okay," Zayn swears, hushes him and waits for sticky come to coat his hands.

It does, like an ' _okay_ ' was all he needed. A breathless, ' _fuck, so fucking hard in me, mate_ ' that rolls off his tongue, filthy words that have Zayn backing up, pausing, still throbbing inside of Liam, imense heat swallowing up his cock like fire. 

Liam's still dribbling a hot mess along Zayn's fingers and it's sort of beautiful, the way his back dips up and down with every breath. 

"Good lad," Zayn coo's, high off of how messy this all is. 

"You c'n fuck me, like- keep going." Liam says softly, suddenly and Zayn almost doesn't hear him. 

"Yeah?" He wonders, careful. Loops his fingers up through his hair, damp. 

"Yeah, keep- I c'n take it, okay?" Liam swears, presses himself back and Zayn obliges, his cock pressed deep, suffocated as he pulls out, his hands riding up Liam's back, thrust after thrust. 

Parted lips with his head knocked back and he's closer than he thought, slamming a few more times, absolutely rabbit fucking Liam and then drawing his hips back, grasping a hand around his sticky prick and stroking off with the profane hum of ' _fuckin' hot, shit, shit, s'all over, s'all over, Leeyum_ ' he spills like semen along Liam's tanned, sweaty back. 

Shots of white that coat lines up and down, come that drips low into the curve of Liam's arse and have Zayn a gawking mess, eyes pinched shut as he finishes off. One hand stuck to Liam's left cheek with his other furiously pumping, filthy moans pouring past his lips because this scene is something out of the porn he finds himself into at one in the morning.

"Unbelievable," Liam huffs, breathless after minutes of nothing, Zayn bending his knees and retrieving his briefs and jeans from a still spotless floor. 

"Right on," he smirks, eyes locked on the way Liam stares shameful into his sink, a mani frown to his lips as Zayn stalks forward. 

"Can't believe you fuckin' nutted in the sink." Zayn teases, playful, winces when Liam pinches at his shoulder. 

"Shut it." 

"Twice," Zayn adds and smirks when Liam bends low for his pants.

"Bugger off, my god." 

He's red in the cheeks when they're both dressed, Zayn fidgeting with his pants and Liam stumbling over words because he's so exhausted, properly fucked, shaggy hair and-

-maybe Zayn's sort of in love with that look.)

And it's only mildly embarrassing when they shove past kitchen doors, Caroline with both hands on her hips as she waits, heels tapping by the front door. A look on her face that says it all and has Zayn grinning like an idiot into Liam's shoulder. 

_Busted._

"Ventilation, boys." She says simply, a tugging smirk along her magenta lips, "both a cursing and a blessing."

Liam gulps and Zayn pinches at his side, keeps his eyes low because, yeah, it's a little bit embarrassing. 

"I'll see you Monday, then, yeah?" She wonders, strapping her purse over her shoulders before clicking towards the exit. 

Liam nods, frantic up and down's before Caroline rolls her eyes. 

A quick and sassy, "your son's been asleep for a solid half an hour, relax, darling," before pushing past closed doors and wandering away down a misty street. 

"Proper traumatizing." Liam says, horrified after a few silent minutes and Zayn stuffs a smoky laugh into his neck.

"Could've been Niall." 

 

===

 

The sun is early, golden rays that break through Liam's bright curtains, dim skies because the trees are still a blatant cover over a town that's deafeningly silent. There's not enough car horns but Zayn's beginning to enjoy that. The quiet. 

His fingers are pressed into crinkled duvet while his lips curl carefully around Liam's saliva soaked shaft, eyes flutter as they examine tan torso. Liam's chest rising and falling profusely. 

His hands loose as they clump along Zayn's hair, draw his head back, gentle maneuvers that have his neck craned back. 

"Could stay like this all morning," Zayn breathes, pops his cheeks when he pulls off of Liam's prick, daring eyes that burn something beyond fire. 

"Wouldn't protest," Liam hums, winces at the cool draft that hits glistening, sensitive skin. 

"You, films, kips in between blowies back and forth," Liam sighs into a moan when Zayn presses his wetted lips along an exposed tip. Precum dribbling loose from Liam's slit as he bucks his hips slightly. 

He laps at the underside of Liam's cock, goes deep with one quick gulp and buries his nose into rough, patchy hair based along stiff skin. 

Liam groans, fingers tugging, "fuck."

Zayn shifts into it, grinds himself along twisted sheets, too many blankets keeping them both twisted up and a thick duvet slipped onto Zayn's back just in case Colin wakes early. 

"So, shit-" Liam stutters, trembling hips as he swallows, "so good, taking my cock in your mouth." 

Zayn hums, bobs his head and holds his mouth around Liam's base until he can't breath through his nose any longer. Until his gag reflex sparks and he has to pull up and away, a trail of saliva coating from his lips, attaching him like an anchor to Liam's red tip. Spit and precum and a bitter sweet taste Zayn loves feeling along his tongue. Tingle after tingle, spark after spark. 

"If you keep looking like that m'gonna-" Liam trails off, Zayn leans low and dips his tongue out, one hand caught along the base of Liam's prick while his tongue slips slow along tight foreskin, slides underneath and Liam groans low. 

" _Zayn."_

He grins, keeps his head ducked, chin low as he lifts Liam's stiff cock. Tongue lapping like a puppy at tight balls. 

"Shit, babe," Liam jets his hands out, trembling fingers that twist along Zayn's inky hair, a thumping heart that doesn't seem to settle until-

"S'coming, like,  _fuck_ , mate." Liam rushes, hot streams of come that coat, dribble down along Zayn's nose. He bobs his head up, licks a steady stripe along and under Liam's shaft until he's brought full circle, sucking up sweet seed like icing. 

"Best mouth, like, s'incredible." Liam hums after a few minutes, Zayn a proud mess as he shifts himself, props his head along Liam's arm, nuzzles his nose into his neck and presses his thumb over a budding nipple. Sprouting hairs that jump along and across a tanned chest. 

"Think so?" Zayn wonders, cheeky. 

"Know so,  _Zaynie_." Liam hushes out, teasing and Zayn twists at his pink nipple, a yelp from Liam who twitches back. 

"Fuck right off, prick," Zayn laughs, stuffs it away into Liam's side and soaks up the way Liam presses into him. Warm and sunny and comforting like home movies at Christmas. 

An image of lit up pine trees with spiked eggnog and brightly wrapped gifts. Liam, his arm tucked along Zayn's shoulder as they flip through the telly, Colin sprawled out on the rug, Loki along his lap with a fresh box of crayons, a coloring book and hair gel because Zayn may have went overboard and Liam just snickered nervously with a shake of his head and-

No. It's some fucked up scene in his head. It isn't real. 

(Not yet.)

And Zayn knows it's all daft to picture something so memorably simple. 

Just like he knows there's a word for it, the guilty swirls that coat his thoughts and leave him wondering every time he makes a potential promise. Like he shouldn't be so worrisome, yet he's nibbling at his tongue in between every breath and he's got this ache tugging along his heart that makes him feel-

Messy, selfish. 

A proper idiot because he's ruining himself in ways he can't comprehend. And he can't stop the desire he has to keep chipping away at it. The same desire he's had to get somewhere, get somewhere, get somewhere ever since he's left Bradford. 

 

===

 

"Last time I was here it was a right dump, bro."

Zayn traces along the handle of his mug with singed fingertips, low eyes as they burn along foggy steam. Swirling tea that brisks in the cup below his nose and sends waves of Lemon lime through his senses.

His apartment is a mess, lingering papers and sketches that lay forgotten along wood flooring. The doings of one too many open windows at night. Chilly drifts that blow along smudgy works and leave them where they belong.

Under the couch or the coffee table because they're-

Nothing. Just another wish.

"Like, don't think ya' even had a bloody bed, Zayn." Louis shoves his hands into his pockets, cigarette tucked between his lips.

"Oi, no smoking." Zayn scolds, swats his hand out.

"Since when?" Louis wonders, taken back as he plucks the butt from his lips.

"Since forever, m'not chalking up me breathing space with smoke," Zayn huffs, "plus, m'trying to, er, quit?" He offers and frowns at the way Louis saps a scoff out across his expression.

"God, man. You're fucked in the head," he laughs, shoves his pack back into his back pocket and rolls along the balls of his feet. Ratty vans and ripped skinnies that he's so famous for in Zayn's eyes, "what gives?"

Zayn bends along his response, doesn't exactly know the answer.

He's got this picture in his head of chestnut brown curls and small chocolate melt eyes. Rosy cheeks and droopy eyes. And it isn't fair. The way he's mucking his lungs up when others can't pass a lit fag without entering a war-zone of coughing and sputtering.

"Did ya' boyfriend talk you out of it?" Louis wonders, sneering.

"Not even close," Zayn shakes his head, slurps along the rim of his mug and sits back, rests his slacking back along countertop.

"Whatever, bro," Louis backs off, lifts his hands in defense. 

"Anyway, you two are getting pretty damn serious, eh?" Louis wonders, "shagging him a good ton, right?" 

Zayn coughs, leans in across spacious tile to flick the tip of Louis' nose. He succeeds, Louis, a stumbling idiot who trips back and knocks his hip along hard counter. 

"Oi, fuckin' tosser. Just a question, my  _god_." He hisses, light catching along his tanned skin, thick stubble brushed along his chin, scuffing up his jaw and he looks- older?

"Is it so wrong m'concerned about me best mate and how he keeps running like an absolute-"

Zayn lifts his eyes, furrowed brows because- "how did you-"

"The name theif told me." Louis responds, simply, "stopped by the cuby when you weren't around, hoping to nip about and catch ya' off guard, but."

Zayn gulps along steaming tea, allows the citrus flavor of pure lemon and tangerine strip the words he already has printed to his tongue. 

Lemon because Liam's convinced him it's the only way to go and-  _fuck_. 

"You're actually considering it?" Louis asks, fixed eyes and Zayn can't tell exactly when the mood shifted, but it has. Serious expression and questions he hasn't had time to prepare for. Not for anyone. 

He shrugs, allows his feet to line up along tiled floor, a mopey expression as he hides behind his mug. A fucking moron. 

"Have you even told the poor lad?" 

Zayn chews along the inside of his cheek, swallows a straightforward 'nope' as he shakes his head. Can't exactly form the words he means to say because they're just so goddamn hard scraping up his throat. 

Louis widens his eyes, a mouthed out gasp like 'wow' triggered into the way he sways.

"It isn't as bad as it seems," Zayn says after silent gawkings and stares of judgement. Or just the way Louis seems to look at everyone because that's all he really is on most days where his coffee isn't creamed and his gran's pissed about him jetting off every few months. 

"Really?" He wonders and Zayn nips at his lip, unsure. 

"Zayn." Louis straightens up, kicks his heel back and lowers his head to flick the fringe from his eyes. Keeps his fingers pressed to steaming porcelain as he swipes a quick gulp, "you've gotta stop with that mad desire you have to  _be someone._ " 

"S'mental, bro. Absolutely bollocks." 

Zayn stiffens, hates confrontation like this. 

"He wasn't part of my agenda." Zayn chases out. The room is shrinking and he doesn't exactly love that feeling any more than he loves the way his best mate is looking at him. Doesn't like the way his next words sting at the corners of his mouth when he says them because maybe they're the only truthful syllables he's sputtered since, well, ever.

"He won't miss something that was never good for him."

 

===

 

It's some point right after the Summer season breaks into view when Zayn tells Liam. 

He expects total madness, a fit, selfishly enough. A wreck of a broken man who sobs into his shoulder and begs him not to go because- that's how it happens in the movies, right? A massive, (slightly overdone) production of ' _please don't go_ ' and three small words to go along with it, but, well. 

He doesn't get that. 

No, no- He gets silent stares. Deafeningly quiet breaths that hum tenderly inside both of their chests. Sentences that aren't on topic because they're both stubborn and love nothing more but to avoid, avoid, avoid. 

And maybe Zayn needed that. 

 _Needs_  that. 

That last bit of a push to send him off to his next canvas. His next project, with his same paintbrush and his same paints, but a different picture stuck into his head. 

It's some point between Liam's 'tea?' and 'I'll see you around,' that he begins to hate himself when they part along cobbled streets and drift back to where they belong. 

Almost.

 

===

 

"Bloody insane!" 

It's Lou. 

Her hair is a ragged, lightning bolt mess with frizzy outings and glowing tips. Her usual cardigan that hangs loose above her low skirt and clicking heels. Wedges that have left a numerous amount of prints along tiled flooring that they've both shared for the past few months. 

A short time, but a somewhat withstand able one nonetheless. 

The phone clicks along a dented ringer platform, has Zayn jumping behind his loose slacks with wide eyes as he examines her from across the way. 

"Driving me up the damn wall, Malik, let me tell you-" she cuts off, gulps for air and runs nimble fingers through her fiery hair. 

"Between the moving, the packaging, the sending, sending, sending, I've gone and lost me marbles," she gushes, "not enough time for me husband or me kid, c'n you believe it?" 

"Not like you had it before," he teases, bites at his tongue when she shoots him a playful glare. 

"Shut it, at least I had time to think I could manage," she holds off, plants herself in fake leather and sinks down to her elbows. 

"I'm going mad, Z, I swear it," she huffs, beat. 

Zayn drops his eyes, bows his head low and plucks along loose fabric jetting from along his pant-leg. Strands of late night shifts and achy backs. Strained eyes and too much on his mind with silly in between breaks of texting back and forth with-

No. 

He won't think his name let alone say it because there's no point. 

"Down a cola or two, then, yeah?" He suggests, snaps himself back when Lou begins to nag at him for ruining his slacks. 

She shakes her head, bites along sugar glossed lips.

"Gave 'em all to Mary, thought she could use 'em."

Zayn's lips part into something like surprise, defense and surprise as he crosses his arms. 

"Oh, please! She's buzzing about harder than all of us. The only one who isn't joining us, I suppose, right? She hasn't even got her cuby all packed up n'd, well." Lou trails off, her eyes lingering like spotlights around Zayn's still packed space. 

Just files and loose papers he's forgotten to throw into the bin, but-

"You'd better get on it as well, we leave in two weeks." She says, voice slow, drawn out as realization begins to pour into her head, "unless-"

"No, m'going, I just, er," Zayn mumbles, picks at his nails and lifts his chin when Lou begins to tap her foot. 

"You're?"

His mind skips along memories. Has him reeling back what he wants to do and casting out what he needs to do. Move. Far, far away to a place where he can develop something. Become something because that's it, right? Make it big in some business he isn't exactly sure is a profitable one in the long-run, but he'll do good either way because he has to. 

It's the reason he's sat here today. 

"Don't tell me that idiot Tomlinson ran out of pounds to fly him across country and now he's convincing you to stay?" She wonders and Zayn cracks a smile, allows his heart to swallow itself up and bury behind his ribs. 

"No, no, just late on it, I s'pose?" He offers and Lou retires, pleased with his response. 

"This is a lovely town, Zayn. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but at some point or another you've got to go along with the current, blend into your own speed, right?" Lou explains, lips pursed into something a lot like wisdom, "find your place, y'know?" 

Zayn swallows, tongues along the crowns of his teeth. 

"You're a good lad, darling." She smiles, strikes her fingers through a moppy mess of blonde. 

Zayn keeps the 'thank you' he wants to free trapped in his throat, fingers lodged together in order to keep himself together because he doesn't feel  _here_ by definition _._

Here in this 6' by 6' cubicle with a canny mother and her incredibly helpful tips since day one. A shit-box computer where he's spent most of his time here cramped up at. Loose furniture that creaks under weight. A heavy heart because he's just so fucking good at tearing his somewhat steady life path limb from limb. 

But that's been a habit since he's entered this world. 

And he sighs into his next few words, breathless and overwhelmed with seeping reminders. 

"On most days."

 

===

 

It isn't over. 

_This._

Or Liam. 

This binding wire of electricity that runs between their fingertips as Liam guides them through patchy grass. Trees that canopy high above their heads and block the rest of the world out. A force field with crickets and late night owls and everything else Zayn finds terrifying about the dark of the night, but keeps quiet, arm outstretched as he's pulled along a brushy bike path. 

This late night adventure because Liam's the definition of relentless (or recklessly young and desperately trying to prove it in every way- Zayn's still not sure,) and he's more than okay with that.

A string of text messages at 11 pm.

- _come outside ive got a surprissseeee!!!_

_-u take longer then me sister for prom, mate lets goooooo!!!! !! XP_

_-zaaayyyyynnnn!_

Too many ridiculous emoticons that still linger in Zayn's head. A peek out his den window with a grin on his lips the second he spotted him. 

Liam, flannel loose on his shoulders as he waved like a complete idiot, hopping up and down and yelping for Zayn to hurry up and get downstairs as quick as possible. 

And now they're here. Wherever  _here_  is. 

Some spot off a dead end road with a no trespassing sign and a couple of shattered beer bottles clattered by the gates. White chipped paint that shingles off the poles and damp pavement because it's always groggy, misty and wet at night. 

Poky branches that scrape along Zayn's left arm, bugs that bite along his cheeks and have him sputtering every few steps. Lungs that spew for air and for a break but Liam just keeps going. 

"Almost there," he promises, although Zayn can barely hear him through bugging chirps and calls and beeps. 

"You've been saying that for thirty minutes." He grunts into an argue, but Liam just snickers lowly, squeezes Zayn's palm tight and keeps going. 

He huffs, blood alive and filled with some sort of spark as Liam tugs along his arm. Laughing like an idiot every time Zayn ends up tripping, clashing into his back and pressing a snort into the fabric of his shirt because- _fuck_ , he's never been into camping or hiking or anything like wandering through dense woods at half past midnight. 

And he's about half lost his wits when Liam pauses, stops short and has Zayn sticking to muddy grounds. His eyes linger ahead and he squints at the way the trees open up. A clearing. 

"Is this where the space ship picks us up?" Zayn wonders, humorously, and Liam scoffs.

"Just-" He tugs recklessly along Zayn's arm, (and Zayn won't complain). Guiding him forward, over logs, slight ditches that catch the tips of his toes until there's nothing. Grass that reaches the laces of his old trainers, crickets that beep and jitter, calling out along the air like alarms. An open sky with a thousand stars that Zayn gets a little lost in.

Luckily Liam's there to help him ahead. To be his eyes. 

Zayn can see, dimly under his vision, a pond. Or lake. The mass that seems to grow in size the closer they stray. Stars like glow sticks as they float along the still surface, faded shimmers that cast low along Zayn's eyelashes and bring him into an admiring daze. 

Liam's still going when he tears his eyes away, keeps them focused, adjusted on flickering red flannel that flows in the breeze.His leader. Guide. 

And he only comes to a stop when the water brims along the tips of their shoes. A bright moon that illuminates bright orbs and draws the water bright. A flashlight to go along with the twinkling planets billions of light years away. 

"-Look," Liam finally says, shoulder knocking against Zayn's as he outstretches a hand. 

Zayn's eyes lift, they trace along where the tree tops meet the sky line. Where the water meets the trees. Where the world is dark but their hearts are light. Fingertips loose as they traces along each other's skin. 

He keeps the 'wow' pinned under his tongue. Streaks his gaze along rippling water and shaded clouds that hang low like silhouettes in the bright, night sky. 

"Used t' come here with my boys back in Secondary," Liam reveals, holds out a finger and traces along the opposite coast. A dreary lake with fog as a blanket and too many frogs drumming away to be normal, but. 

"Dreary, innit?" He wonders and Zayn keeps his eyes pealed. Nods along as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. 

"Went skinny dipping with Addison Crowden by that dock there," he nods with a wrecked laugh and Zayn grins, tucks it away into his shoulder and presses his heel back into sinking dirt. Quicksand. 

Liam tilts his head, drags his fingers up to the left of them both and huffs a proud breath. 

"Caught me first sunfish with me dad over there," 

"Impressive," Zayn snorts, not thinking but feeling relieved when Liam nudges his side. A hushed 'shut it' tagged along with it before he spins slowly back around. 

"And right here," he begins, bottom lip pinned between two front teeth, eyes low as they trace along Zayn's mouth and up, "I kissed a boy."

Zayn resorts, gulps down the surprise he has lodged in his throat and lifts a brow. 

"Liam Payne kissed a boy by an old groggy lake?" Zayn wonders, a bit let down even though he's got humour pinned to his response. He isn't jealous. 

(And he hopes it isn't selfish that he holds a 'being Liam's first...' list tacked to the walls of his head, but-)

"Shut it," Liam snorts, rocks back on his heels and keeps his palms stuck to his sides, fingers nipping at the fray's printed to his jeans. 

"Did he kiss ya' back?" Zayn asks, curiosity picking at his brain, wracking him of any respectful boundaries because, well, he wants to know. 

"Don't know," Liam puffs his bottom lip out, naturally, gulps down a breath and Zayn tilts his head. 

"You don't know." He repeats, dumbfounded. Finds it a bit humorous because, well-  _how?_

"I do remember-" Liam parts his lips, a smile etching its way onto his features, moonlight streaking low as it hits his eyes. Shades them milky way brown and Zayn bows his head. 

"-His tattoos."

Zayn grins something manic, tilts his chin and traces his eyes over the ink printed to either one of his arms. A wave of something a ton like relief washing through his bloodstream and taking him over because- Liam is so fucking cheesy. 

(But maybe Zayn loves that a little more than he should.)

"I remember fancying his music taste," Liam continues on, aware that Zayn's aware and this is probably daft looking as all hell, but Zayn doesn't mind it at all. 

"And his cool hair," Liam lists, knocks his hips forward and Zayn stutters in that moment. 

"Sick style-"

It's knocked out of him. His emotions. His control, his everything when he leans forward, slots his lips along Liam's. Cherry red and blistering with chapped edges. Fluttering eye lashes that bat along soft cheeks and scratchy chins, bearded with light stubble that neither of them have been bothered to shave away. 

It's this feeling like a star building up inside of Zayn's chest, hot and steamy and sparking with energy, ready to just go Supernova at any minute. 

Liam's fingertips tracing up his sides as he tugs him in, sloppy snogs that leave them both breathless with swollen lips and ragged breaths. 

"Guess he came through, then, yeah?" Zayn wonders, forehead pressed to Liam's, nothing but crickets and beetles cheering them on as they sway against each other. 

"Seems so," Liam smiles into his words, an etchy frown that seeps into his features when Zayn backs up, slow. Keeps his hands shoved into his pockets. 

"I just hope he doesn't forget me, y'know?" Liam says, tone serious, expression engraved with something a lot like heart ache when Zayn raises his eyes, jets a tongue out to lick along dry lips. 

"When he goes and does big things, I mean."

And-  _fuck_. He hates that trace of sympathy in Liam's words. They way he sounds like he cares, like he wants the best. Like he wants Zayn to be the best he can be.

Hates the way  _this_ is what it's come down to. 

Hates the way he loves this place and the way it works. Odd, but functioning. Not complex and packed and neatly transitioned like Bradford and the big city that he knew.

Hates how his fingertips seem to always trace back to Liam's belt buckles, the way they loop around cut denim loosely and tug weakly like, ' _don't give up on me just yet, I've got a little longer_ ' if actions could speak. 

Hates how the words don't come as soon as they should, and hates how they come out shaky and on the verge of collapse when they do, small dribbling, words that spill and are buried into his collar. Words that he knows Liam doesn't hear. 

"Couldn't if I tried."

And it's silent. 

Croaks and ribbits and every other 'natural' sound imaginable as they stand there. Liam, his eyes diverting around the eerie lake and the handful of memories that come along with it. 

So maybe Zayn's a little surprised when he isn't so still anymore. When he jets his hand out, tugs at Zayn's wrist and leads him back along the shore. 

"C'mon," Liam says, fingers lopped, fitting along Zayn's like puzzle pieces. 

Zayn doesn't speak, he trudges behind, steady breaths as Liam guides them both around to the opposite side. 

A lingering ghost as Liam leaves him, hops up onto a rickety, not-so-sturdy looking dock. Splintered wood that extends out into murky water. 

He watches intently as Liam begins to fiddle with his belt, click the material and slide it past his belt loops. Shimmying his pants along his ankles and turning to Zayn with a mischievous smile. 

"Be my Addison Crowden?

 Zayn snorts, taken back and slightly frozen as Liam continues his stripping. Kicking a leg out at his shackled jeans as he begins to unbutton his flannel. Slow and easy popping. 

"You're mental." Zayn shakes his head, disbelief clear as day in his expression as Liam tosses his recently removed shirt Zayn's way. 

He doesn't attempt to catch it, allows the material to pool at his ankles and his eyes drop to trace over the patterns before he lifts his chin to a half naked Liam. 

(And fuck, he's still not used to that. That tingle of  _want_  that ladders up his spine and knocks him dizzy.)

He's left in his briefs. Black like midnight as he stands there patiently on the dock. An extended hand like-

"C'mon," he pushes, a grin splintering at the corners of his mouth and making its way full round. Zayn can barley see the outline through the darkness, but the moon is on his side tonight and he's rather grateful.

"Mental." He repeats himself, shakes his head and backs up a step. 

Watches with wide eyes as Liam steps forward, forward, forward until-

There's a splash, water droplets that are propelled through the air like bombshells. Shattering above Zayn's head and leaving him flinching, stepping back and leaning around the dock to see what in the fuck-

"Zayn." Liam's voice rings from the water, daring. 

"That's fucking insane, you're fucking insane." He shrugs, convinced. 

He has to be if he thinks that Zayn would ever-

"Gonna leave me in here all alone?"

Zayn sighs, steps carefully along grubby dirt, stationing himself on the flattened dock, eyebrows lifted up into an arch as he nears the ending. 

"Zaynie." Liam grins manically from below him and Zayn can't help the laugh that scrapes up his throat, barrels past his lips and echoes around the clearing. 

"Shove off it, yeah?" He wonders, tongue clicked along the roof of his mouth as Liam paddles his arms, shoves them to his sides. Skin a bare glow as it shines through clear water. 

"Why's that?" 

"I, er." Zayn mutters, red cheeks even though Liam can't see them. 

"Afraid of the water?" Liam wonders and Zayn gulps along his confession. 

"Something like that." 

There's a splashing noise and before Zayn can react he's wet in the knees. 

"Absolute dick," he mumbles, backing up.

"The waters up to me shoulders, you'll be fine," Liam encourages, puddles about, "I've gotcha'" 

Zayn purses his lips together, eyes loose as they scan the perimeter. No light excpet for the stars and the moon and the ocasinal firefly that flickers in his frame of vision. 

And he thinks, gulity like, that he owes Liam a sacrafice. Not something large like an organ transplant, or a bullet to the chest because that's, well, morbid. 

Something simple. 

Like drowning in a woodside lake at midnight with the one boy he's sure he's ever-

No, not the one word he has thought over multiple times. Late nights with too much cola and sugar running through his blood to fall asleep. Or early mornings where he hasn't exactly fallen asleep. Running off of sparky nicotine and the thought of milky coffee and paints until he passes out during his break beside Lou later in the day. The word that's taped into all of his dreams because-

"Hurry up, m'cold." Liam mumbles from the water and Zayn thinks -absentmindedly because that's how he's wind up during half of his decisions-  _fuck it._

He huffs out a breath and sucks in a deep one all in the next second, fiddles with the strings to his hoodie, tosses the material onto the wood and sticks his shirt out along with it. 

_Fuck it._

His skinnies are after his trainers are kicked off, one of them lost somewhere in a bush beside him, but he'll deal with it later. Stripping himself of his jeans with a shaking of his head every now and then because, Liam Payne is a fucking mad man, but, well-

_Fuck it._

"You could leave your briefs-"

"You're pushin' it," Zayn huffs, tugs along his boxers when he stands to his feet and pads, slowly towards dark water. 

"Right, right, sorry. Noobie to the whole swimming thing, forgot." Liam surrenders, pats along the rippling water with a giggle stuffed into his bare shoulder. 

Zayn swallows, sits low with his feet hung over the end of where the wood meets the air and raises an eyebrow when Liam steps forward. Sloshes through the water and reaches up. 

"I've gotcha'" He mutters, no hint of anything but trust in his voice as Zayn dips his toes. 

"This is so fucking stupid." He mumbles under his breath, lips trembling as cool water dips at his skin. 

"Just-" Liam cuts off, reaches ahead and steadies it along stiff wood. 

"Jump." 

Zayn braces himself, ignores the way his heart speeds up and the way his brain screams at him because he knows he's going to hate every minute but he maybe likes the way Liam's so giddy over this. 

This spike of rebelliousness that sinks into his personality for just tonight. 

So he jumps. 

Sputters like an absolute idiot when he slaps at the water, toes curling along putty-like sand that's nipping at his toes like small fish. Spongy mud that has him wincing into every step and Liam shoveling out bellows every time Zayn squeals like a bird fresh into uni. Excited but terrified in all of the best ways. 

He steadies himself eventually, keeps his arms up and feet stuck into his specific spot. 

"Not so bad, right?" Liam wonders and Zayn can feel a shiver boomerang up his spine. 

"Here," Liam offers his hands, presses his fingertips into either side of Zayn's hips, pulls him closer, the water like jelly as it slows down the motion and keeps them in places. Liam's wet lips as they brush against the tip of Zayn's nose. His saturated hair that hangs loose in front of his eyes and drips into steady, ripple-free water. 

"Could be worse," Zayn mumbles, eyes low as they trace the prickling hairs along Liam's jaw, sprouting chest hair that pops up along still water. 

His hands are planted to his sides and Zayn almost panics when Liam moves his hand too low. 

"Just me, s'okay." He hums, this whole situation like something from a horror film playing out in Zayn's head and he in all honesty, expects a full on slasher fic by the time they get out but he's too caught up in the way Liam's brushing his thumb over the dip in his spine. Calming circles that draw his eyelids sort of heavy and leave him forgetting where he is. 

"S'just water. A bit mossy, but," Liam trails off, an unsettling sky above head that booms and interrupts him in the middle of a sentence that Zayn's too distracted to comprehend. 

"This is-"

"Nice?" Liam offers, steady fingertips still pressed to Zayn's waist. 

"Something like that." He quirks his lips, winces at the sky and the way it's lighting up with bolts far, far away. 

And it's sudden, like everything has been for a long while. The pattern of rain that shatters the still surface of the lake. Violent ripples that send shivers along Zayn's skin and have him pressing a palm to Liam's chest. 

"Dips are like kips, yeah? Shorter the better?" He says with minimal question and Zayn shoves at him, a shake of his head as rain begins to pour down on top of them. 

A dark abyss of nothing but moonlight and starlight and rainfall and Liam. 

And maybe Zayn's in love with that mixture more than he should be. 

So it's only logical that Liam pinches at his hips, ducks his chin low and kisses Zayn like he can't breathe without the taste of rain along his lips. It's dewy and wet and Zayn hates the way everything feels so murky and soggy and odd in general, but he loves the way Liam's lips feel soft and gentle along his. A rough tongue that fights along his, thrashes and adds in that perfect sample of serendipity. 

Liam's eyes are light with the moonlight hitting along his pupils, drilling in a color Zayn swears he's never come across before. Puffy lips and water droplets that drip along his features. 

"I've got you."

 

===

 

It's shrill giggles that splinter along the dense forest trees, Liam leading the way as Zayn trips up over logs, cursing in between every rough breath. Soaked clothes and inky black hair that hangs loose above his eyes. Saturated jeans that stick to his sticky legs. Wrecked, muddy trainers that he's not too upset about. Couldn't be with Liam and his mucky white converse- the knob. 

Breathless yelps when they reach Liam's truck, a fumbling mess as he tries to jiggle the keys into place. Puddled seats as he starts the engine and roars down a deserted, forested road. No cobble in place, just pebbles and fragments of cement.

A light tune of  ' _my hands are tied, because I won't say goodbye_ ' pouring past a humming radio as Zayn savours the taste of  _this_  moment on his tongue. 

Because nothing worth remembering lasts forever. 

And now he's convinced. 

 

===

 

They're muddy, dripping wet messes by the time they stumble past diner doors and drapes themselves up a creaky staircase. A scent like vanilla and retail perfume that lingers in Liam's sitting room. A ballistic Loki who yips at Zayn's cuffs and a frantic Caroline who chases after him, blubbering about how Colin's just fell asleep and how Liam's gone and ruined his new carpet. 

He shrugs it all off with a laugh, one hand low on Zayn's back as he guides him. 

"Bloody idiots," Caroline mumbles, a shrike piercing past her thin lips as Liam reaches out to hug her. 

A quick ' _I owe you_ ' from Liam and a sassy 'damn right, Payne' that she fires back with almost instantly as she saddles up. Grabs her purse and shakes her head, lingers in the door for merely a second with a fond smile printed to her expression before exiting. 

Zayn's running pruned fingertips through his soaked hair, fucked and sticking up in all directions while Liam takes his hand, palming away giggles and leading them silently down the narrow hall. A bathroom on the far right that Zayn doesn't stutter at before entering. 

Liam, tugging his henley loose from his torso and leaving it to wilt along drippy, bathroom tile. A half expectant smile like, 'go on' splintered into his lips while Zayn grins like a complete dolt, kicks at his trainers and chews reluctantly at his bottom lip whilst Liam presses his fingers down and under his waistband, jeans that shackle to the floor and leave him bare. 

"You've got-" He mutters when he catches Zayn gawking, "you'll join me, won't you?" 

Zayn shifts his head, lifts his chin and traces the patterns along the shower curtain. Liam, a dripping wet mess already with a curly strand of hair dipping low along his forehead. 

Clark Kent, Zayn thinks, daft like in his head as he shifts under warm, chestnut blazed gaze. 

"Filthy, yeah?" Liam says, lowly and Zayn holds a barreling snicker low in his throat. 

He doesn't exactly answer. He hasn't got words to say, or time to think about saying them. 

So he tugs at the hem of his heavy jacket, allows the material to sink to the floor before he works along his inside shirt. Some scrappy, old material that hugs his chest well and makes him feel homey.

"All your fault," he manages to chase out right as he slips off his jeans, a devilish smirk let loose along his lips as he slinks denim past his ankles, finds ease from the light slap that sounds across the washroom once the clothing hits the hard floor. 

"Won't deny it," Liam says, stands back with drilling brown eyes that rake up along Zayn's figure. 

"But at least now I'm unforgettable." He adds, Zayn's blood running cold at the mention, a droopy frown that seems to tug along his lip and leave him-  _fuck_ , he doesn't want to think about that.  

"The mad-man who dragged you out of your bed at half past eleven and forced you into some groggy lake in the middle of nowhere." 

Zayn snorts, stumbles back when Liam steps forward, running a hand past draping shower curtains and turning the head on. Water droplets that spiral down and pelt plastic tubbing like bullets. 

"Won't complain," Zayn mumbles, sucks in a sharp breath when Liam slides tight briefs down thick thighs, a soft prick that hangs decently low and has Zayn's cock jerking, fattening up just a bit behind his own underwear. 

Liam doesn't seem to hesitate. He tosses sticky boxers into the mess of clothes piled up in the corner and steps into steaming pellets. 

Zayn swallows, slips his remaining clothing off, follows close and enters behind him, lips pursed and lashes low as they bat away the water splitting along his hairline. Dripping down his back, chest, torso. Liam's quiff is flattened, not spiked or gelled. Product-less, soft hair the color of midnight pines that cut off just above his eyes. 

(Admirable beauties that Zayn's been a little bit in love with since he met him- 

-and maybe more.) 

Steady hands as they press to Zayn's hips and line them both up, forehead to forehead, damp skin that Zayn can't exactly keep his eyes off of. The way water falls along Liam's fury chest, trickles that run down, down, down. 

"About being absolutely grubby?" Liam wonders and Zayn bows his head. Liam's hips pressed along his and-  _god_ , that feels amazing on his cock. 

"Er-" Zayn groans, accidentally, doesn't mean to seem so frail and so needy but, well. 

"Hm?" Liam hums, and Zayn can already tell if he lifts his eyes he'll be smirking like a bastard. 

"Can't finish your sentence, huh?" Liam adds and Zayn nuzzles his nose into Liam's collar bone, nips brutally at his lips and the dry skin cracked there. 

Suddenly Liam's hips stutter and Zayn- 

"Fuck," he mumbles, nails that press into Liam's hips and teeth that release and press to wet, tan skin. 

"Ya' like that, yeah?" Liam asks, rocks his hips again and has Zayn mewling because it's so hot and steamy and Liam's got his prick lined up perfectly, thick and fattening by the second. 

Zayn hums, nods and stifles a whimper as he loosens his grip, steadies his footing and allows Liam to reach his hand down, down, pruned fingertips that brush over and along Zayn's swelled cock. 

"Like when I touch you?" Liam wonders, curls his fingers around Zayn's base. Slow strokes that have him sputtering into Liam's neck, sucking, biting down softly at wet skin. 

"Could touch you forever, so fucking-" he pauses, jerks his hand up and has Zayn groaning filthily, "pretty."

"Liam-" Zayn's voice cracks, he lifts his chin, brings one hand around Liam's side and palms at his stiff cock. A metal pole as it brushes along Zayn's thigh, has him wanting to touch him. Wanting to feel him jerk in his hand. 

"No," Liam's voice breaks, he backs his hips up, his prick slapping along his bare stomach and flinging water droplets into a wave. Hot steam that's beginning to suffocate Zayn, but he won't complain because he's so alive for this moment. 

This ridiculous pose in this ridiculous shower with this ridiculous boy. 

(And Zayn knew he always loved that word.)

"Like how you're proper stiff f'r me, like, always, babe." Liam whispers along the shell of Zayn's ear when he leans in, a voice scratchy like sandpaper but it's so incredibly soothing Zayn just melts into everything. 

"I've got you," he adds, slow and steady words that trickle through Zayn's ears and stun his brain. 

And he hates the way Liam sound so desperate. Not quite panicked, he's still got a somewhat calm essence, a steady tone. But there's more to his words than structure that comes along with a messy hand job in the shower at one in the morning. It's deeper. 

_Meaningful._

And Zayn- 

"Stop it," he mumbles, wrecked. 

Liam stays silent, slow jerks that become a little more speedy as they stand there, water pelting along Liam's back and bouncing off of his shoulders, deflecting along Zayn's lashes and leaving him with a sore neck because he's gotten so good at hiding from the sun and making friends with the ground. 

"Could be more of this, like-"

"Liam." Zayn gulps, sternly, bucks his hips with an aggravated sigh. 

"Just-" he swallows, hard, "fuck, just-"

"Yeah, s'cool." Liam mumbles, voice flat, shrugged as he tightens his grip, jerky tugs that have Zayn a proper mess. Melting. 

"Bet you're thinkin' about me cock in you, right? Pounding you t' the moon n'd back." Liam whispers, pronagraphically, tone low along Zayn's neck as he nibbles small bites. 

Zayn whimpers, the build of his orgasm slow and buzzing in his stomach as he rocks along his heels lightly, doesn't want to throw of the rhythm. 

"Hot skin, always so ready t' take me." Liam hums, rough as he presses his nose under Zayn's ear. 

"Babe," Zayn grunts, bucks his hips and quivers into Liam's next stroke. 

"Close, love?" Liam wonders, low strumming words that echo along shower walls, leave Zayn dripping, hot and steamy and close to release. 

He nods, frantically, stuffs his face into Liam's opposite shoulder and moans loud. A sound that boomerangs off of bathroom walls and he hopes he isn't being too reckless. 

"Spill," Liam encourages, "everywhere, go for it, like-" 

He cuts off and Zayn presses his teeth into a meaty shoulder. 

"Coat me, babe, fucking spew it," He eggs on and Zayn's eyes roll back slightly, open lips with no sound until-

He sucks in a deep breath, blows it out when he spurts hotly over Liam's hand, fingertips loosen along his shaft and he sighs into the easing release. Come that dribbles down, washed away by pelting water above head. Drained way like it was never there in the first place. 

"Good lad," Liam mumbles low, a steady hand to Zayn's back as he rubs soothing circles. 

And Zayn still doesn't look at him once he finishes dribbling from a red, fucked slit. A flushed mess even though he shouldn't be and this is just  _different_. 

The waters beginning to drop in temperature but Zayn doesn't mind with Liam's arms tight around his waist, a rabbiting heart as he comes down from a thrashing orgasm. Eyelids heavy and his breathing shallow. 

"Unforgettable," he mumbles once he's sure that there's no other word to fill this lack in his head. 

Because Liam's a whole new level of heartbreak that Zayn's not ready to deal with. 

(Yet.)

 

===

 

The morning is dewy, sprinklers that perch too early along the groomed lawns across the street. 

Zayn scratches at his belly, yawns with a cringe at the way early drowsiness sticks to his throat. Coats the inside of his mouth like nail polish and has him lifting himself from puffy sheets. Flooring icy as he shuffles down a narrow hall. 

There are slight giggles from the upcoming kitchen entrance, a bright sun that shimmers through clear windows and draws patterns along the tile floor. 

Zayn tugs up along the pair of joggers he's slipped on. 

Liam's. 

With rips and holes and stains, but he likes the way the cotton feels along his skin. Warm and comfortable and everything that should be listed in the book of 'Morning Apparel' he knows must exist somewhere. 

He hesitates at the doorway, leans along wooden perches and admires the way Liam's fiddling with a frying pan, some white blob that's messy in all of the worse ways slopping about with a snaky sizzle here and there. 

Zayn studies the way his wrist flicks, the way his lips crack everytime he nearly misses the pan after a catching trick or the way his eyes squint every time Colin claps and points from his counter stool. 

There's flour and eggs and batter and syrup and Zayn takes it all in. Pictures this tomorrow, pictures this the day after tomorrow and the day following that day and many more to come if he could just-

 _No_. 

Big things are waiting for him in London, and that's the whole reason he's standing where he is. 

He just has to keep reminding himself that it will all be worth it. 

A big city that he's used to. A big office with a big pay rate and a big apartment with big easels and big sets of paints that will line his every side. 

(And a big void in his heart-

-but he'll manage.)

He always has. 

 

===

 

His office is empty. 

The walls are stripped, (mostly on Lou's side because Zayn was never the decorative one), desk sweeped, cleansed over with a thin layer of lysol. His problematic computer boxed away and probably halfway to London by now. Old documents that Lou has sorted through a countless amount of times, filed away into the major recycling bins centered in the middle of the cubicle ring. 

There are scraps of paper along the floor, vacuuming to be done for sure, but there are workers upon workers for that once they've all fully left the hive. 

Zayn's tongue tastes bitter, he hates the way the coffee feels on his teeth, warm and chilly at the same time. Caffeine nipping at his tastebuds as he slumps back in his chair. 

This is happening. 

And, well, Zayn's come to terms with that. 

(Almost.)

"You look glum, darling." Lou chimes from the corner, eyes bright as she runs her hand over a dust-less desk, "alright?"

Zayn lifts his chin, indents his fingernails into flimsy styrofoam. Lips dry and cracked and he knows the coffee isn't helping, but the back doors have been bolted and there's no sneaking out for smokes anymore now. 

"M'that obvious?" He wonders more to himself than to Lou. 

She shifts, pouts her lips into one of her motherly twinges. A face that Zayn knows is a slight attempt at either trying to get him to smile, or get him to man up about this whole situation. 

This is better. 

It will be, he just has to keep repeating the phrase in his head and it can't be too far from accurate. 

"Is it-" She cuts off when Zayn winces, doesn't want to talk about him here. 

Not in this cramped cubicle and these busy secretaries buzzing about with their last minute office belongings and papers that are better off burnt than recycled. 

"M'sorry, love, really." She sympathises, scoots closer and folds her fingers into her lap. Sincere eyes that pour along Zayn's figure even though he won't lift his head. 

He can't think about it here. He won't. 

And luckily, he doesn't have to distract himself with the frays along his slacks because-

"Defo the tidiest I've ever seen one of yer offices," Louis bellows suddenly, striding into the room with an award winning smirk and an outfit that's, well, classic. 

Zayn bites at a smile, tucks it away into his cheek when Louis plops down into the rickety, corner stool. 

"I've never had an office, mate." Zayn responds, close to an eye-roll but he knows Louis will punch him. 

"Is it so wrong to pretend? God, Malik." Louis drags out, dramatic and Lou scoffs from beside him. 

"You'll be able to properly say that in London," she reminds, like an alarm in Zayn's head and he ignores the shiver that runs up his spine. 

"Bet the buildings gonna be sick, bro." 

Zayn lifts his head from a bow, watched the way the sunlight catches along Louis' dusty fringe. Chocolate brown that's light along the tips. Some hair-dressing catastrophe he's still recovering from when he was 17. 

"Reckon they'll have an arcade." He adds, mesmerized. 

"Shut it, you. Don't blubber too loud or the big man'll hear you and actually consider it." Lou scolds, teasingly as he rolls back. 

"And what's so tragic about an arcade? Nothing wrong with a little fun." Louis argues, pursed lips as he kicks his shoes along the legs of Zayn's desk. 

"It's a work place, you punk." Lou shakes her head, "doesn't have room for unemployed prats like you prancing about and throwing the employee's off task." 

Louis scoffs, offended, " _preferably_  unemployed, there's a difference."

"Yeah, and it's loads more terrible than just being jobless." 

Zayn sighs, sinks back into leather and wishes he could just be gone. Far, far away where he doesn't have to think or speak or decide. 

He wants to ease that itch he feels to be someone. 

"So you'll let me stay with you." Louis beams suddenly and Zayn jerks his head to the left, "when you, like-"

"You're going, right?" He wonders and Zayn swallows, tries not to slump when he nods. 

"He's a bit broken up about it." Lou whispers like she's spilling some major secret. And if Zayn knows Louis-

"I'm his bro, it's offending you would think I  _don't_  know what's going on in the sod's life." Louis sputters, insolent in every definition. 

"My god." Zayn mumbles, drained, "quit it." 

Lou stays quiet and Louis just clutches, holds onto his glare until Lou has her purse strapped around her shoulder, heels tapping along a rugless floor. Tile that Zayn's never seen before and, well, it's sort of dusty and cruddy, but it still shimmers under fluorescent office lights. 

"I'll be catching you on the flight next week, won't I?" Lou wonders just as she's about to duck past cardboard thin walls. 

Zayn tastes the question in his mouth before meeting her eyes, "yeah, yeah."

She nods, content as she winks at Louis, a small wave before she's clicking down the hall, all the way to the lifts and Zayn breathes again when he hears the ding signaling operating doors. 

"You're sure about all of this?" Louis asks when Zayn turns to him, a serious sort of expression stuck to his face and- wow, that's odd. 

"No." Zayn swallows, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he fiddles his thumbs in his lap. Louis' shoes still tapping along the flooring. 

"But you're going to go anyway because you're-"

"Don't say it." Zayn warns, serious. 

"Stu-"

"Tommo." Zayn whines, irritated because, no, he isn't-

"Stubborn." Louis finishes and Zayn leans forward to swat at his shoulder. 

"M'not." He argues, but Louis knows him better than his mum. And they both know there's a lie somewhere in those words. 

"M'just-"

"Bigger, bro. I get it," Louis shrugs carelessly, lifts his lips into an off-placed quirk as he slumps low, "as long as you're happy in the long-run, right?" 

Zayn doesn't answer. 

Mostly because he doesn't feel like he needs to. 

Then again, he's never been more unsure of something in his life and putting things off is his absolute speciality. 

Especially when he's got everything he wants in the world, but nothing he ever planned. 

 

===

 

"You are the most fidgety lad I have ever come to know, and Jawaad's still living." Waliyha rolls her eyes, fragile fingertips as she tosses the pillows from Zayn's couch onto the wooden flooring.

It's a mess- his flat.

There are blankets piled in every other corner. Sheets and comforters and empty boxes that Zayn thought he'd have a break from for at least a few more months.

He knew this was inevitable, really. This jumping that he can't quite seem to stop on his own.

And it's sort of off-putting to think that his whole mindset is switched on to run away, run away, run away. Duck and cover because you aren't good enough here. Better, better, better.

"I know this time is different, but still, Z." She hums, begins to crease either side of a new blanket, folding the fabric in and patting it along her lap. Frowning when she finishes, yanking Zayn's from his grip and beginning to fold it on her own.

"Thanks," he mutters, slow.

She lifts a brow, allows the material to plop to the floor, a perfect set that he'll have packed later on with his other sheets. The one's he'll still need for sleeping because his flight isn't until Saturday morning.

"Hopeless without me and me homey skills." She mumbles humorously, giggling into her palm. Acrylic nails that shimmer a bright shade of yellow.

Lemon and citrus and-  _fuck_ , stop it.

"Can't believe you're movin' out t' the big city. The HQ, eh?" She laughs, a high giggle that Zayn connects to home and family dinners. Outbreaks of snickering relatives after every tall tale. Most of the PG ones, anyway.

Waliyha kicks along boxes as she moves, wanders past a wooded hall and into the small kitchen, humming some Katy Perry tune all the way there.

"Me brother, fancy businessman. Never would 'ave guessed, Zayn." She coo's, proudly and Zayn sinks back along a bare, white wall as he watches her fiddle around the cup cabinet. Fingertips curling around the handle of one of his recently cleaned mugs.

Eyes raking along the shelves as she searches for-

"Ya' didn't pack up the tea, did'ya'?" She wonders, spins on her heels and observes Zayn.

"You knew I was coming over and you packed it anyway, didn't you?" 

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes his head and sits up.

"No, s'somewhere around there." He mutter simply, drags his bare feet along cool tile as he flips open a few high cabinets.

Waliyha smiles, thankful when he comes across the box printed and bolded  **Yorkshire**. Her fingers magic as they work speedily with the tap and the kettle she's bugged Zayn about wrapping up for safe travel.

"Y'know," she begins once she has the kettle filled to the line, "London's a massive city."

Zayn lifts a brow, leans himself back along hard counter, "it is."

Waliyha quirks her lip up into a grin, almost. But she tucks it away, pulls it under her lip and knobs the stove up all the way.

"You could use a little guide, right? Someone to help you figure it all out?" She seems to offer and Zayn holds down the laugh scraping at the inside of his throat.

"You?" He wonders, comically, but he can feel confusion seeping back into his veins when his sister shakes her head.

"I was talking about your boyfriend, idiot." She rolls her eyes, one hand on her hip that makes Zayn think back to Caroline and all of her brilliant moxy.

He swallows, hates the bitter taste of ' _boyfriend_ ' that stings the inside of his cheeks. Has his skin hot and his stomach flipping upside down with all of the sweltering memories that come along with the mention.

"And perhaps a junior tour guide, huh? An adorable one, too." Waliyha giggles, wide eyes like brilliance and nipping teeth along her bottom lip. Glazed over in pink gloss that sticks like cement everytime she purses either side together.

Zayn doesn't respond, he keeps his eyes low and traces the tile patterns along the kitchen floor. Simple, sweet, a distraction.

"Zayn." She calls, quietly.

He bites along his bottom lip, nervous chewing that results in the steady flow of copper in his mouth.

She turns to him, expectant like she's looking for an explanation.

"Oh my." She reaches up, thin fingers that cover her mouth and wide eyes that Zayn can feel on him but he just can't speak.

"You aren't, they aren't-"

"Going? No." He spits out, doesn't mean the venom he's got inserted deep into his voice, but, well.

There's silence. The ramble of the kettle, boiling water and steam that begins to spew from the spout. A whistling haunt that nags at Zayn's ears and reminds him to breathe.

"I don't know much about relationships, Zayn," she begins, her voice sudden and it's startling.

"But I do know a hell of a lot about importance." She purses her lips, sticky gloss that oozes loose and Zayn lifts his chin when she begins to fiddle with the kettle, "and I know that you know that what you've got going isn't just some silly infatuation."

The words aren't exactly what he was expecting, but he sinks into them. Soaks them up halfway because his mind isn't all here in this moment. It's somewhere fuzzy where he doesn't have to picture Liam or Colin or Caroline and all of the people he's come to fancy quite a lot while allowing his main priority to drain right down the loo.

"And I bet you a million pounds that little boy would be devastated if you just up and-"

"Disappeared?" Zayn finishes, blinks away the frizz along his lashes from too much laundry earlier on. 

"Exactly." She stares, dazed, disappointed?

"I've got no choice," he shakes his head, slow turns, left and right until he's convinced himself  _that's_ why.

"Don't go pulling that, Z. You know damn well why you're going." She points a finger, accusing as she pours her tea, slow streams of faded, brown liquid that steams past the brim, up, up and away.

"Have you ever considered the fact that you may have found your purpose?" She wonders, wincing and pulling her fingers away once she brushes them along steaming porcelain.

Zayn stares, dumbfounded until Waliyha sighs into her next breath.

"The kid, you  _knob_." She bellows, scolding, "you've become  _someone_  in that little boy's life. And you can't simply pack up and leave once you've printed your beautiful image into his head."

Zayn picks along loose ties at the crotch of his joggers, frowns at the floor.

"You know what?" She straightens her back, "m'not even going to bother because you'll figure it out one way or another. And when you do-"

"You'll blubber and tell me you told me so?" Zayn offers, lifts his eyes to trace the smile plucking at his sister's lips.

"No, I'll smack you over your head and tell mum you ditched the one thing that matters to you most on the world." She bites, eyes fixed on him.

And he feels sort of invaded. Helpless under her glare because she's sort of intimidating when she needs to be.

"That beautiful boy and his beyond beautiful son." Waliyha continues, presses her fingertips to cooled porcelain.

"You'll see, Zayn." She warns as she sips along the brim, losing her place along the counter and wandering away back into the mess of a den. A repetitive, "you'll see," that fades and lingers in the air when she's out of sight.

He sulks into his position long after Waliyha complains about his heavy stereo and his complicated amount of paints. Brushes and charcoals and sketch pads that he should just toss, but he's restrained by invisible ropes.

And there's this simmer of  _something_  low in his stomach that begins to work it's way into a full on burn by the time he soaks up the thought of going. Leaving.

But,  _no_ , this is logical, right?

And maybe it's sort of draining because the world's screaming 'no' and it seems to be just him when he knows that this isn't entirely the best thing he could do.

Yet again, it's always been Zayn versus authority and rules and just  _life_.

So, he presses himself from his spot and settles into the flowing, new improved words printed into his head.

Big, better, beyond this small town.

 

===

 

It's later when Waliyha's packed up a good half of his apartment.

Zayn helped- or maybe he kipped for a bit while going through old magazines in his room, but either way, it's official because his telly is unplugged and there's nothing but crummy biscuits stuffed into his cabinet. A couch without pillows and an empty blare from a packed away speaker has his head spinning with nothing.

Nothing.

And all Zayn wants to do is sleep. Forget.

Perhaps he'll duck out on the roof and puff away the last of his pack. Look out over a town that he knows he won't mention, but one that he won't forget.

One with trees and parks and vines that crawl up the sides of buildings because there's air here. A place where he can breathe even if he doesn't want to and that's- refreshing.

He kicks along filled boxes, mutters under his breath at the way Waliyha as stacked pile after pile in the corner because she probably busted her arse over it all.

And Zayn's about ready to turn in. Click his lights off and slip into an unsettling sleep before his buzzer rings.

His head jerks up, eyes fixed on his front door before he wanders, feet scuffing along cold tile as he approaches the front entrance.

He squints when he leans to peak through the peep hole, and, well-  _fuck_.

It's Liam.

Hair gelled up into it's usual stiff wave of products, a dark blazer over one of his white t's, Zayn can see it now. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows with a weary tilt to his head every second that passes. He quite frankly, looks terrified as all hell, gnawing at his bottom lip as he lifts his fingers to rap one more time but-

Zayn swings the door open, eyes hung low as they ghost his appearance. Skinnies and mucky converse because "classical is the way to go, mate," according to him one night where they were both too caught up in each other, stumbling over each others feet back and fourth down an empty street.

There's a bottle of wine in his hand and Zayn lifts a brow, questioning.

"I, erm," Liam reaches his opposite hand up, rubs at the nape of his neck, "heard you were out in a few days, right? So I brought some-"

"Merlot." Zayn finishes, lips pressed together firmly as he creaks the door open a bit further.

"Yeah, 'cause I figured it was still your favorite." He breathes, steps forward like he's asking for permission and Zayn doesn't think as he back up, allows Liam to step fully inside and his breath catches in his throat when he spots him, out of the corner of his eyes, lips drooping and adam's apple bobbing, loosening in his throat.

And fuck it stings. It stings like strong soap in a fresh cut or pressure applied to a sunburn. A sour, sizzling feeling that works its way up along Zayn's throat.

"All packed up?" Liam wonders, clears his throat of anything weak.

Zayn knows because he's the  _exact_  same way when the world isn't exactly working for him.

"Almost," he shifts uncomfortably. Shoves his hands into his pockets and sways, unsure.

It's silent, like Liam's using this moment to soak up the way Zayn's carpet is rolled up and stuffed in between the couch and the coffee table. Time for him to soak up the way the cushions are packed up and Zayn's outlets are free from wire.

"Empty," Liam nods, steps forward and runs his fingers along stainless, white walls, eyes observative as they scan along every inch within his vision.

Zayn swallows, twiddles with the string loose in his pocket.

"Yeah, Wali came by earlier and helped out," he reveals, slowly, words tripped into something poisonous.

Liam turns slowly, eyes pouring into Zayn's like ice and it freezes his bones. Has his stiff and hateful and every other possible definition of fucking brooding.

"I would've helped," he says, "packing, n'd what not."

Zayn shrugs, hates the way Liam means so well and means so much good yet he's so weary and melancholy about this.

 _He should be, and you are, too_ , Zayn reminds himself, dreadfully, nips at the corner of his lip.

Liam stays silent, stalks forward, setting the wine down along a clear hallway table. A clink of glass along glass that chimes along Zayn's ears and has him shuffling forward, quietly.

He stops when Liam does, fingers outstretched as he leans forward, eyes loose as they scan along canvas and-

"What are these?" He wonders, softly and Zayn panics just a little bit.

Feels his heart speed up and his pulse plummet down his throat all in the same second.

"Er, scribbles? Nothing major, like," he shakes it off, shrugs and slumps his shoulders back down and around when Liam fingers roughly along the stack of thrown together paints Zayn so mindlessly created at three in the morning almost every Saturday for the past month or two.

Just a dream he hasn't got around to stomping out completely.

A side interest.

Just another  _nothing._

"Zayn." Liam hums, tone unreadable as he leans low, lamp light that glows from the kitchen and the mixture of shimmering moon rays that line up somewhat proper vision.

"These are like-"

"Rubbish, pointless, mate." Zayn cuts him off, leans along the opposite wall.

"No, shut it, god." Liam scolds, teasing, "I was going to say they're fucking beautiful."

Zayn can feel this pinch of something hit him hard in the chest. Something a lot like hope, but he knows better. Knows it's just a masked wish that won't ever surface because that isn't how it works.

"The lake, right?" Liam wonders, voice leading Zayn to peak around his shoulder. An amber sky with pitchings of raven and dark printed lilac that hold a blanket of stars high, high, high above the silhouetted black tree tops.

"S'pose so," Zayn mumbles, curls his toes out of nervous habit and watches, on edge as Liam thumbs through more prints.

"This is Bulwell, innit?" Liam asks, craning his neck back around and Zayn nods, teething along his tongue.

"Incredible, Zayn, like- fuck." Liam stands, wide eyes as he straightens out his sleeves.

"Knew you were into it, the art thing, but didn't ever think you were a bloody VanGoh," Liam chuckles, low and nervous.

"Van Gogh," Zayn repeats with a smirk tied along. Likes the way Liam's so fucking clueless, but, well, it's sort of admirable in all of the right ways.

"Yeah, like, s'cool." Liam fixes himself, nods and fiddles with his collar.

"Cool," Zayn mirrors, chews at a grin and stuffs it away because maybe this isn't-

Horrible, he thinks.

Like maybe his life could be better in London with late night sketches, Louis, a job, a something and definitely not Liam.

(Because this is all just an illusion and Zayn's slowly falling out of it.)

 

===

 

It's utterly reckless- their kisses.

Slow and drawn out snogs that linger, vining fingers as they cling to each other, knocking hips and bumping foreheads that have Zayn smudging his eyelashes along Liam's cheeks, tugging at cherry red lips and pulling them both under. There's too much wine in his system and he thinks this is probably the best solution for the small dilemma that's been tugging at his heart since Liam rapped on his door.

Typical.

Liam's already lost his cheesy blazer, dropped it by the coffee table after his second glass while Zayn giggled manically and sloshed alcohol back into his cheeks.

And now they're here.

"Alright?" Liam wonders, lips loose and wet as they nip at Zayn's neck. Breathless nothings that don't register in his brain right away, but Zayn nods frantically when Liam presses himself forward. Tight.

"Got me pinned," he sputters, words slurred just a little as he ducks his neck, "fuckin' hot."

"Yeah?" Liam asks, hand sinking low, low, low along Zayn's clothed torso, fingers teasing as they nip at the waistband of his joggers and yank along the adjustment strings.

His breath is hot along Zayn's neck and he loves this buzzed Liam. This rough Liam who knows how to make the bumping feel good and the sizzle of expensive wine in Zayn's stomach bubble.

"You've got- we could like-" Liam mutters, his left hand palming roughly at Zayn's restricted cock. Fattening meat that's restrained by tight briefs and, well, fuck, he can't wait to slide them off. The feeling of fresh air on his suffocated prick has him whimpering and Liam groans low.

"In your room, right? N'd like-"

Zayn leans forward, slots his lips to Liam's. Tongue twisting and breathless gasps until he sputters out a quick-

"Fuck me."

Liam swallows, question brewing along dark, chocolate eyes.

"C'mon," Zayn eggs him on, lifts his chin and, well, Liam complies.

Both of them stumbling like drunken idiots, slamming each other against every wall after every turn in between every doorway or wall cut-off and snogs in between every step. It's something a lot like their first time and maybe Zayn's sort of in love with that memory.

Liam's restless when they reach Zayn's bedroom. Bedside tables gone, vanished out of thin air, (but really they're shoved into the back of Zayn's den) he just wants to pretend for a little longer that this is all going to last.

"Fuck you're so hard against me, man," Liam groans low, bucks his hips and presses forward, keeping his lips hot along Zayn's collarbone as they fall onto a springy mattress. Sheets puffing up around them and exhaling into some reflective sigh.

"Can't help it," Zayn swallows, shifts his hips, "It's just-"

He cuts off, allows the words to wither and die under his tongue because it's pointless.

"What?" Liam wonders, lifts his chin, bare chest merely a glowing silhouette with the way the moon's shining.

"S'nothing," Zayn blinks, blurry smudges that cast along the ceiling and have him focusing in on the way Liam's eyes narrow.

He huffs, grinds down hard and has Zayn burying a yelp into his shoulder.

"Tell me," he orders, strong hands that cup at Zayn's hips, tugging at loose joggers and sliding them down past Zayn's thighs, his knees, his ankles.

He keeps his lips pursed, mumbling small snippets that have Liam panting, rowdy, "say it, Zayn. Just fucking say it."

"You." Zayn whimpers, fucked off of the way this is all so rough. All so new and he can't tell if he absolutely loves it or if he's on the verge of just-

He wants to think he'll crumble if everything goes to hell. But he's just sort of caught in the middle.

"That's a good lad," Liam loosens his grip, traces a fingertip along Zayn's belly, lines along the trail of thatchy hair that winds down low and past sticky briefs.

Zayn's limbs are trembling and he wants this, needs this because he knows it's so close to being over in more ways than one and he isn't ready yet. He will be, he always is. Just not now.

Liam's head dips and Zayn can feel his fingers slide along his torso, skin that tingles under the touch and a neck that cranes back when Liam brushes the material up past his nipples. Up past his shoulders and allows it to lay limply around his neck.

"What d'ya want, Zayn?" Liam wonders suddenly, sat up on his knees with the least bit of adventure in his voice.

Zayn winces, sinks back into the covers and stares up at Liam, unsure.

"F'r you to shag me," he mutters, slow, drawn out even though it should be fast and frantic because he's craving this, wanting this with his cock stiff, restricted in his boxers and his skin hot and rising with goosebumps.

"That's it?" Liam asks, eyes low as they scan over Zayn's exposed skin, tattoo's that litter up his arms and draw his eyes wider, spike his senses.

He gulps before answering, a shudder that runs up his spine and has him speechless.

"That's all you want?" Liam repeats, and Zayn  _can't_ \- he can't think about it.

That isn't what this is. This is now. Not then, or the day after his flight away from this place. It's  _now_. Now in this moment where Zayn just wants Liam to fuck him so hard he can't remember all of the reasons he should stay. 

So he nods, gapss lightly when Liam sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth and reaches a strong arm out, helps Zayn to flip himself over. Stomach down, arse up, and with the least bit of warning, Liam's fingers are looping under the elastic band, slapping it down hard on Zayn's lower back, sliding the material down altogether with huffing breaths and a clear mission.

An unforgettable shag. One for the road.

"You just love getting fucked by me cock, don'tcha?" Liam questions, brings a hand down hard on Zayn's left arse cheek and he yelps, breathless.

"Tell me, Zayn. Tell me how much you fucking love it, how much you live for it," Liam pleads, only his voice is rough, brutal, demanding.

Zayn nods, gnaws at his lower lip and mumbles out a quiet, barely audible, "yeah."

Liam doesn't ask him to repeat his words. Instead he presses the outline of his erect prick to the curve of Zayn's arse, bucks his hips and whimpers hotly.

Zayn can hear the material slipping loose and before he can analyze the situation, he can feel bare, thick slaps along the dip in his arse. Cool precum that smears along his skin and has him spilling moans into his elbow.

"You c'n take me, can't you? Don't need any prep or even a condom, you're a big boy." Liam laughs, low like a drum beat, seems to correct himself when he mumbles a quiet, " _London boy_ , my bad."

Zayn cringes, that familiar sting that hits his stomach just right and has it turning in all of the worst directions.

"Liam." He warns, doesn't want to think. He just wants to feel, feel, feel until he can't.

"Right," Liam grunts, brings another hand down hard on Zayn's opposite cheek. A sound that echoes through the room like a siren and has Zayn biting into the flesh on his arm. Hard, ruthless. 

And he only dents in harder when Liam reaches around, slips his fingers around the sticky base of Zayn's cock, slow tugs that are too rough and too ragged and Zayn whimpers out, has him cursing like a maniac into sweaty skin.

He can feel the head of Liam's prick lined up, pressed against his hole and he thinks that he wants this too much, wants the burn, wants to feel every possible strand of  _anything_  he can before he can't ever again-

-with Liam at least.)

So he nods, " _fuck_ , yeah, just-"

Liam grunts from above him, stuttering hips as he presses forward, slow, Zayn's arse held high with his face buried into his outstretched arms.

And-

Oh  _fuck_.

The burn is immense. This sizzling fire that creeps it's way through Zayn's core and ladders along his spine. Up and through his lungs, his throat. A sensation that scrapes past his teeth like granite and has him mewling, huffing out sharp breaths to keep from losing all of his energy in this one shuffle. 

He wants this.

"Fuck," Liam groans, pushes further, stretching wide and Zayn braces himself, holds his breath and pants into his elbow along every inch. Lines up his breathing pattern and has him licking at dry lips, nipping along every one of Liam's bucks forward.

"So tight around me, like-" Liam hums, both hands on either side of Zayn's arse, fingertips slippery as they coat along sweaty skin.

And Liam doesn't wait too long before he shifts all the way in. That final push that has Zayn's back wobbling, posture almost slask only he holds out because he  _will_  break himself if he flattens out.

He takes it. Welcomes every sensation, good and bad as Liam stutters inside him. His thick prick twitching every time he shifts his hips and Zayn can feel his muscle tighten around Liam's girth.

"Think you c'n- fuck- think you c'n move," Zayn mutters after a solid thirty seconds of adjustment.

Liam does, withdraws with one swift pull-back and drills back in all in the same breath, leaves Zayn sputtering into his elbow. Silent whimpers that he hopes Liam won't hear because this doesn't hurt. This is good. He wants this.

"Always taking me so good," Liam mumbles, teeth gritted as he sinks back into Zayn's hole, pressure building and falling rapidly, "so fucking good."

Zayn groans in approval, wants more, craves an ache that he knows only Liam can bring on.

"Harder," Zayn says, voice shaky, weak.

"What was that?" Liam leans low, his stiff dick projected fully perpendicular inside of Zayn when Liam's lips perch along the shell of his ear.

" _Please,_ " Zayn breathes, "harder."

Liam stays quiet, draws back and slams forward, hands slip along Zayn's back and he melts into the ricocheting nerves that are being hit all along his spine, his bones, his fingertips.

"Y'know," Liam begins, sloppy thrusts with one hand as the other reaches up, palms along damp hair, "don't see how we can shag from London."

Zayn's breath catches in his throat and he sputters something awful when Liam pounds ahead. Fast, a thick prick that slips so easily in and out of Zayn's hole. 

"Liam, I-"

"Can't imagine you without being split on my cock, Zayn, like-" Liam huffs, a sweaty mess as he pauses, slow and shallow, "you just look so pretty with your arse up." 

"So,  _so_  pretty."

Zayn clenches his teeth, pinches his eyes shut and breathes through the pins and needles nipping at his bare toes. 

"Can't imagine shagging anyone else, mate." Liam says, voice slow, warped and Zayn listens in even though he doesn't want to. Even though he knows this isn't it.

"Liam, c'mon, just-"

"Fuck you?" Liam cuts him off, "no problem, I've got you-"

Zayn coughs, blinks away the gloss in his eyes, "would you stop sa-"

"Stop?" Liam asks and Zayn shakes his head, buries his nose back into his elbow.

Focuses on the way Liam's so hard inside of him, so fucking deep and wedged and the way they're soaked with sweat and words they definitely don't mean.

It's all just part of this heated moment.

Liam's thrusts are hard, slamming, pounding and Zayn's skin is blistering hot, mind a mess when the words slip out past his lips. Words Zayn almost doesn't hear, but over the slapping and low moaning he swears Liam says something a lot like-

"You could stay."

Zayn gulps, his lips quiver and he can feel his eyes gloss over with an emotion he refuses to show.

"Could talk t' Andy, says he has a friend with a gallery, ready to move from the next town-  _fuck-_  over?" Liam stutters and Zayn gasps into his arm.

"You, me, that shit diner with those shit red walls," Liam continues and Zayn's feeling burn where he shouldn't.

"A famil-"

"Liam." Zayn begs, desperate.

He can't. He won't.

"You can't just-" Liam panics, his voice is tattered and Zayn hates the way it scrapes along his skin, reaches his ears and slices him like razor blades.

" _Please_ ," Zayn drags out, broken as he feels his stomach clench. Waves of pleasure and sizzling splinters shuffle up along the rings of his spine and his back dips low, stomach brushing along the crinkled blankets beneath him.

It's this pure hurricane of emotion in his head that pushes him over, has Liam jerking him, one arm tucked to his side as he grunts shamelessly into Zayn's ear.

"Come for me, Zayn, just-" Liam cracks, slows his hips and stirs himself deep.

Zayn groans low, buries his head into his elbow again, mutters a small "I'm so fucking sorry" he knows won't matter as he spills over Liam's fingers, coating of white and sticky batter that has his lip a bloody red from too much nipping. Too much pleasure.

But it's good, it's so fucking good even though it hurts so fucking bad. Every word, every plead that leaves Liam's lips as he chases his own orgasm.

"Unforgettable, c'mon,  _shit_ , you could- this could be good,  _fuck_ , just f'r me, f'r-"

It's slow, stuttering pumps that have Zayn wrecked, slumped, heavy lashes as he bats away, a distraction from the way his arse is aching. A distraction from the way Liam shoots so ruthlessly into warm heat. A trickle that sends shivers up Zayn's spine, through his limbs and zaps at his nose.

And he tries his best not to think too far into it when Liam leans down, still stuffed deep, fucked over with a sweat slicked torso sticking hotly against Zayn's back, lips pressed behind his ear, damp hair stuck up.

"You're something to me."

 

===

 

Zayn expected more.

He thought the whole ' _good bye_ ' would go a lot like this;

Slow, soft thumbed patterns swirling along the dip in his back. His head pressed to Liam's chest while they whispered about how well they're both going to do in this big world. How successful they're going to be in the long-run because they both have dreams. 

How Liam's going to end up on some brilliant cooking show and end up opening a massive restaurant in the states.

How Zayn's going to be the head of a flourishing London business with properly fitting suits, (not the daft ties that he's forced into wearing on the daily, but silk.)

How everything's going to be just fine because that's what they both want to hear. Lemon tea to top of Zayn's send off and one last kiss because they're young and they're dramatic and they live for each other.

However, Zayn realized about half past seven in the morning when he woke up to an empty bed, No Liam tucked in beside him with a dopey grin tied into his sleepy features- that life isn't exactly a movie.

Because sometimes things are good and then they're just not. 

And it isn't like it's rare that something good could come out of all of this. Zayn's just one of those blokes who happens to get the short end of the stick in almost every situation he wanders into. Blind like mice. Clueless. 

So instead of sobbing pointlessly over it all, he sinks back into his cushionless sofa. Hums along to the slow, warped tune of, ' _who wrote the book on goodbye? There's never been a way to make this easy_ ,' that plays through the stereo he couldn't help but unpack. 

 

===

 

It's a week later, two nights before his flight to London when he receives the phone call.

His clock is dismantled, tucked, wrapped up into some box along the kitchen back wall.

Blurry vision as he rubs at his eyes, listens in to the frantic voice on the other end.

And he doesn't stutter as he throws on a baggy sweatshirt, slips his pair of mucked up trainers onto his feet and shuffles past his front door.

 

===

 

The hospital is a glowing, fluorescent building just a coach ride away.

The hallways are bright for quarter past midnight, not enough nurses around to ask for directions, a smell like sanitation clear as it lingers down deserted corridors. A shiver every time Zayn catches a glimpse down open doors that he can't seem to shake even after he's passed. His eyes droop with sleep and his mouth is cotton dry. Not enough time to properly prepare himself because Caroline is an absolute wreck when she speaks too fast over her mobile. 

There's night owl patience that linger with bare black canes, limping along, exhausted. 

Zayn's far lost his patience until he spots him.

Liam.

It has to be.

Grey hoodie, baggy joggers with rips up the sides, thumbs a twiddling mess in his lap as he leans back along uncomfortable hospital seats.

And Zayn sighs, relieved, approaches him steadily with his tongue taped to the roof of his mouth, squinted eyes and a somber sort of sway to the way he slides into the seat beside him.

He doesn't hesitate in sliding an arm behind Liam, securing his lower back and reeling him closer, nose pressed into the shell of his ear.

"It's not fair on him," Liam mumbles, quietly, voice soft but ready to crack in half.

"S'not fair on his lungs, his life," he continues, slow words that Zayn swallows hard at.

His fingers are jittery as they tap along his thigh, unsure as he breathes, quaky.

"He's okay, he's just- sick out of no where, right?" Liam explains, softly, "hits him harder than other kids because of the condition and, fuck."

Zayn presses his thumb low, circles small dents into the bumps of Liam's spine, traces them softly and dips into the low drop above his arse. Calming. Soothing.

He knows this is too much. Being here. But at the same time he knows this is what needs to be done. 

A priority.

"Y'know, er-" Liam pauses, unsure like, "he kept asking where my Zayn was when, um, when I brought him here."

Zayn freezes, his heart thumps rapidly in his chest and-  _fuck, fuck, fuck_. 

He didn't expect that. 

"Don't know if-" Liam cuts off, again, presses his thumbs together in his lap, "he was half knocked out."

"Daft, right?" He wonders, humorously tragic. 

His chest is tight, Zayn can feel his lungs squeezing air in and out, his throat closes up just a little bit and he silently panics. Hates the way he's growing roots here even though he doesn't mean to. Doesn't want to get attached. 

"Thought you were out of here, like, yesterday?" Liam wonders suddenly, a subject shift that Zayn isn't entirely prepared for.

"No, er, Saturday." He mumbles, low. Hopes Liam doesn't pick up on it because this isn't what he wants to talk about right now. 

"I'm sorr-"

"Nothing to apologize for." Liam cuts him off, toneless. A voice that's gone completely flat. Nothing. 

"S'cool, okay?" Liam says, "it's fine, m'fine," he reaches a hand up, shaky fingers that rake through his product-less hair. Natural, straight out of bed.

"There you are, about time, my goodness!"

It's Caroline.

Zayn tilts his head, bright ceiling lights that shimmer along his pupils and have them resorting, small. Drawing out the golden swirls that pool behind thick lashes.

She's barreling towards them, tight skinnies and clicking boots. Some oversized, fury sweater that hangs low on her hips with three cold chains hung loose around her neck. Bracelets and jewellery that make her look like a modern day Cruella Deville. 

"Took you long enough, darling." Caroline slips into the seat beside Zayn, sticks a water bottle into Liam's lap and pouts her lip low, pinches at Zayn's hip and stuffs a giggle into her shoulder. 

"I knew you'd come."

Zayn swallows, pins every emotion he has left over down, down, down.

He's here for Liam. Liam and his son.

Because whether he wants to admit it or not; this matters.

(He knows deep down it always will, but, well-)

"How's he doing, lovely?" Caroline leans close to Liam, sympathetic features and a soft trace to his thigh from her freshly done fingertips.

"He'll be fine, s'just scary," Liam responds, eyes low as they bump over shimmering white tile.

"I know, Li, I know." She comforts and Zayn could use a cigarette. His lungs itch for the clouds of nicotine that calm his nerves at times like these.

Although he fights it off because this isn't about him.

It never was.

And now he's beginning to see that. 

 

===

 

"He's going to be a bit drowsy, poor lad's exhausted." The nurse, Mary, explains. Her hair is long, eyes a bright shade of pine tree green.  _Clover fields and leprechauns_ , Zayn thinks as she blinks in between him and Liam. A twisted, brown braid knotted over the shoulder of her white coat. 

"Nothing but a common cold, we're going to be upping his vitamins, nothing major," she continues, stood in the middle of the hallway. Deserted, still. 

"I reckon you've been good with the previous medication, yes?" She wonders, fingers stitched to a pen as she jots messy notes along her clipboard. 

Liam nods, palms pressed to each other as he fiddles with his cuffs. 

"Right, he's just going to need to get over the cold. We'd recommend a night stay, but that's pretty much useless unless you prefer-" she draws her voice low, "between you and I, he just needs a good bowl of soup and a good night's sleep." 

"But we've still got some blood tests to run, so either way-"

"We're stuck here." Caroline butts in and Zayn doesn't miss the way Liam shoots her a warning glare. 

"Yes, but the cafeteria has some pretty piquant meal options." Mary offers, quirks her lip into an almost smile and flips a page in her clipped packet. 

"Thank you," Liam lifts his chin, Zayn's hand still pressed to his lower back, calming circles with an active thumb. 

And he soaks it all in. The information, the medical talk that's pretty much gibberish in his head, but he keeps it memorized for research later on. 

For Liam.

No-

For Colin. 

"And I'm assuming you're Mr. Payne?" Mary asks, eyes locked on Liam as he nods. 

"Well, Liam, but yes." 

"I'm sorry for the scare, really. He's going to be just fine." She purses her lips, sympathetic.

"You're aloud to visit him now if you'd like." She reveals and Zayn stands beside Liam once he presses his feet to tile, wobbles a little because he's been sat for so damn long. Aching calves and splintered shins. Pins and needles that nip at his toes and have his left foot numb. 

"Oh, only family, dear." The nurse stops him mid-way. 

"Precautions, I'm sorry, love." Mary sticks her bottom lip low, presses her clipboard to her chest and taps her flats along shiny tile. 

"He is," Liam says from Colin's room entrance and Zayn's blood runs frigid in his veins. An icy chill that takes Zayn over fast, fast, fast. And-  _fuck_ , that's new.

"Family, that is." 

Mary nods her head, "darling son you two, have." She smiles, a contagious blush that works it's way up her cheeks as she spins on her heel and begins her next round. 

Zayn's still dazed when Liam reaches his hand out, tugs him along into a dimmed down room. A light that simmers stars along the faded ceiling. A disco ball, Zayn thinks, careful, light footsteps as he follows Liam deeper. 

Colin's spread out, small fingers tucked away under soft, hospital blankets. The telly is flipped on in the corner, flickering rays of light that display over his soft skin. And Zayn can make out a small, smudgy mark printed to the left of his neck, centered, not quite direct, but-

It matches Liam's. A similar trait that his heart can't seem to get enough of, fluttering brutally with every step closer. 

Liam's gentle as he dips low along the bed, one hand stretched as he peels the covers back. The movement is enough and Colin's eyes blink open slowly, a yawn that has his mouth split and eyes pinched together once more. Painted over with gloss when he cracks them open once more. 

"Hey, babe," Liam coo's, soft. A smile Zayn doesn't have to see to know it's there. Warming and comforting and every other word that makes him feel  _safe_. 

Colin's under eyes are dark and he shifts in his bed, restless. 

And Zayn presses his feet into the tile, rolls back on the balls of his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets. Admires the way Liam's so there. So careful. 

And it's sudden, so he's thrown off his balance when Colin's eyes lift to him. They're soft and bright and maybe Zayn loves the color and the way they shine along dull lighting. 

He reaches a hand up, lifted brows that contort along his face. Soft, blushy cheeks with parted lips. 

Liam turns his head, eyes pinned on Zayn as he beckons for him to come close. 

He does, swallows hard and places one foot in front of the other as he steps along squeaky flooring. The other side of Colin's bed as he presses himself softly against the material. 

"Hey, lad," he grins, can't help the way the corner of his lips tug upward and have him giddy to see that- yes, he's okay. He's okay. He's okay. 

Colin keeps staring, his eyes are low as they trace over Zayn's being. Fingers small as they reach across knitted, white blankets. Careful breaths as he traces his pointer finger up Zayn's forearm. 

A microphone tattoo. 

And his voice is soft, barely there when he speaks. two simple words that has Zayn sent into something shocking. Something  _new_ that sinks into his blood.

"Thank you." 

There is no explanation. Zayn's not even sure if there's a reason, but it's enough. The way Colin giggles into his palm and lifts his eyes to his father, points at the crinkles that pinch along Liam's eyes, cotton candy lips that part into low snickers when he reaches low to run a hand through his son's shaggy hair. 

Zayn's finally here. Here in this town with this beautiful boy and his beautiful son and these beautiful friends of his. With this not-so-beautiful flat on a not-so-beautiful road but it's okay. 

Because Zayn's got this. 

 _Family._  

 

===

 

It's sort of a myracle Friday morning when Zayn wanders into his old office building. Lights up and running but every other piece of furniture is packed away. Shipped off to London and the new building. The new location. 

This place, however, is deserted.

Evacuated all except for one specific door at the end of the main hall. 

Zayn sucks in a deep breath, shuffles down wooden flooring. Trainers a loose mess and he knows this is unexceptional, unprofessional, but he has to do this. 

He's figured it all out. 

Harry's head lifts from his laptop when Zayn enters. His office is absolutely empty. A single cord traveling from a wall outlet to the side of his thin mobile computer. A coverless bin in the corner seems to be the only leftover furniture besides the desk and the chair his boss is sat in. 

"Zayn," Harry welcomes, drops his eyes to scan over his screen once he motions for him to move in. 

"I'd offer you a seat, but as you c'n see we're just a tad short of those, eh?" He laughs and Zayn chuckles, something fake and drawn up only because he feels like he  _has_  to. 

"Yeah," Zayn mumbles, dreary. 

"What's the matta? Flyin' shcedulaed fucke dup or summat?" He wonders, curious as he thumbs away at his keys, "no problem, mate. I can getcha' some new ones, no problem."

Zayn gulps down every bit of hesitation he has, pushes his bravery up along his teeth with his tongue and just-

"It isn't that, I-"

Harry giggles low, something shrill that Zayn wouldn't expect from him in the least, but.

"I know, Zayn." Harry says like it should have been obvious.

"Pardon?" Zayn asks, thrown off. 

"I know you're backing out, Malik." Harry explains, shaking his head, catching the edge of his bottom lip with his teeth, "and it's-"

"Unprofessional, I know, I just-"

"It's  _okay_." Harry shrugs, careless. 

"Okay?" Zayn repeats, dumfounded. 

He knows this is him. This is his choice. His decision. He isn't contracted into this business and he never hoped to be. It's his say, but he can't help the nag in the back of his head that scolds him for looking so reckless when all he;s been trying to do is clean up his life. 

"Yeah, man. I understand." Harry taps out along his keys, squints and lifts his eyes when Zayn stutters, shifts uncomfortably on the spot. 

"Life happens, plus," Harry pauses, grin split along his lips, "opportunities only come around now and then, but the one's worth accepting are the one's you least expect." 

Zayn swallows, tastes the words of wisdom on his tongue and decides he likes them a lot before he clucks, nervously. 

"So don't worry about it, yeah? Pleasure workin' with you, blah, blah." Harry mutters, humorously. 

Zayn's speechless. He doesn't know how to react and his words are long gone. Lost, emergency audio that's tucked away deep inside of his brain. 

"Thank you," Zayn says, quietly as he backs away, unsure. 

Harry stays still, doesn't say much, (not like Zayn expected him to), taps his fingers rapidly along his key pad. Curls springy and loose above his eyes. 

And Zayn's got one foot out the door before-

"You're a good lad, Zayn."

He doesn't look back, instead, he soaks up the words into his skin and prints a smile along his lips as he seals the door. A thank you pressed under his tongue while he shoves his hands into his jeans pocket. 

This is  _his_  opportunity. 

 

===

 

There are people everywhere. 

The diner, filled to the brim with customer after customer. Small children that hop past booth after booth. Scrambling parents in every direction, but it's exceptional because they're making money. Loud voices that echo along the tomatoe red walls. Silver linings that match so incredibly well with the stool brims. Seats with cushions and back-pads and tables that are finally drilled in all the way. The windows have curtains and there's a smell like success in the air. Popularity along with steamed foods and fried meals. 

Zayn doesn't mind the way that he's crammed into this small corner. A view of a place that he's come to love, a place he's learned to love in. 

"So this is where you've been sneaking off to every time I try n'd call you up for a hang out?" Louis chimes from beside Zayn, sassy and cheery in the cheeks as he sips along his vanilla, cherry shake. 

It's sugary and awful and Zayn can only imagine how many calories, but-

"This dump, eh?" Louis nudges his elbow out and Zayn knits his brows together. 

"Oi, watch it. It isn't a dump, you prick." He defends, doesn't particularly enjoy the way Louis is taking the piss at a place Zayn's watched progress through through the past four months. 

A process of messy, sticky paint and breathless giggles and perhaps a little bit more in between. 

"Not a complete dump, m'loving the painting, bro." Louis compliments, even though Zayn's almost positive that he knows Liam couldn't have pulled off the walls on his own. 

"They match me shoelaces," He adds, giddy. 

"Absolute child," Waliyha beams from behind him suddenly, back from her loo trip as she rolls her eyes. 

"How incredible," Zayn gasps, laughs when Louis socks him lightly on the shoulder. 

"Watch it, Malik's. I'll drag Louise back here to put you both in your place." Louis threatens, eyes on both him and his sister as Waliyha laughs. And Zayn frowns a bit at the mention of her name. Lou, The perky, motherly office co-worker who made his starting out just a little less glum. The bird he never got a proper goodbye with, but he knows he'll see her again one day. 

"I'll tell ya, man. I don't miss her in the least," Louis sways, humorously and Zayn shoots him a glare. 

"Terrible," he mutters, knocks his hips back along the back counter, eyes set out of the diner. 

Liam's diner. 

This massive success that Zayn's still getting used to because they've been open for two hours and, well, it's been a fucking success so far. 

"Zayn Malik, you terror, you!"

He can feel a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His tongue flicked to the roof of his mouth as he spins slowly. 

Caroline, a bright smile glued to her lips as she struts towards the three of them. A flannel loose around her shoulder, hanging low with her skirt. Some outfit that doesn't look as bad as Zayn had first pictured it when Niall half drunkenly suggested it. Clueless, putting two and tow together as he sputtered on about the most fashionable diner on the block. 

(Zayn remembers Cher correcting him for a solid ten minutes that day, that, no, this is surely the only diner in town.)

"Knew I'd catch you sooner or later, lovely." She slides her tray along the counter, balance and purity as she slips her hand around his neck, pulls him into a hug. 

Her scent is like honeydew and candy and greasy french fries, but he soaks it all in anyway. 

"All unpacked n'd settled back in?" She wonders once she pulls away and Zayn nods. Still a pain in his neck from so much tugging and lifting.

Only he knows it would have been a hell of a lot worse if Liam wasn't there to listen to him bitch and help him scrub the floor tiles. Calming him down with muggy snogs and manic, reassuring grins every now and then like fuel. 

"Good, close call there, then, eh?" She laughs, lifts her chin at a clattering from an open order window. 

"Liam's a right mess, losing his mind over all of the orders," she sighs, breathless. 

Her eyes linger and she turns to face Wali and Louis, a smile twisted into confusion as she opens her mouth to greet them. 

"M'Caroline, you must be the viscious best mate Zayn's talked about," Caroline lifts her chin, keeps a straight face while Louis gurgles back a scowl. 

"You're fucking me, right?" He turns to Zayn, unbelieving, betrayal in his eyes. But Zayn just shrugs, giddly-like. 

"And you," Caroline spins to face Waliyha, eyes wide and bright as she squeals, "must be a Malik, look at you, love!" 

Waliyha braces herself as Caroline throws her arms around her, sways her back and forth and keeps her close. Zayn's eyes meeting along his sisters as she laughs, surprised with flattened hands up to embrace. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, really." Caroline beams as she pulls away, blushy and spirited.

"And you," Waliyha replies, kindly with one of her most generous smiles as Caroline slips her fingertips underneath a metal tray, lips pursed as she lifts herself along her toes, perches like a look-out over their heads. 

"Well, I've got to be speedy, this is mad, I'll see you all soon, I hope." She cuts in cheerily, one last cheeky smile and a wink to Zayn because- god- before she's off, down the middle strip, collecting glasses alongside Cher who waves at Zayn when she spots him. 

He raises his hand, leans back along hard counter and sinks into this wave of energy that sinks through his blood. 

"Y'know, I never quite made my job interview." Louis cuts in suddenly, voice low and Zayn barely picks up on it. 

"Not surprised," Waliyha mutters under her breath and Louis glares at her, tilted chin, a sour expression. 

"Anyway," he drags out, dramatic, "reckon I could get meself a job here?" 

Zayn snorts, raises his eyebrow, grin tilting, "you're taking the piss?" 

Louis rocks back on his heels, shakes his head back and forth, almost desperate. 

"C'mon, Z. You could get me in. I'll even mop." He offers, frantic. Eyes wide and blue like crystals as the sun shines through under his lashes. 

"Mop." Zayn repeats, amused. 

"Yes, I'll fuckin'-"

Waliyha's hand jets out, a hard slap to Louis' stomach that has him cringing into his next gasp, "would you watch it? This is a family friendly environment and m'pretty sure your naughty mouth isn't so good for business."

Louis winces, pinched eyebrows as he traces his thumb up the side of his shake. 

"Fine, fine, I s'pose I'll just live on the streets. Kip under benches when it rains, y'know-" He cuts off, eyes loose as they wander to Zayn. Hopeful. 

"You're-"

"-My best mate and I would love nothing more in the universe than to ask me boyfriend if my dearest bud Louis could have a job at this diner." Louis finishes for him, slurpr along his straw and puffs his cheeks before swallowing sugary, sweet frap. 

"Fucking hell, fine." Zayn rolls his head back, irritated when Louis slaps his hand down. 

"That's me boy!" He yelps a little too loud and Zayn can make out Waliyha shaking her head out of the corner of his eye. 

"Knobs, both of you." She mutters, slides herself back along one of the open stools and turns away. 

"Thanks, mate." Louis slaps his hand down on Zayn's shoulder, "now, m'going out f'r a smoke, you up for it?" 

Zayn stutters, scans his eyes over the packed seating area. Two frantic waitresses' and steamy orders barked out from the kitchen. Niall and Andy, two drunken blokes with a cooking dream and perhaps a keen interest in late night karaoke. 

"Nah, dude." Zayn denies, taps his fingers along the counter and leans back onto his stool. 

"Whatever, bro, catch ya' on the flip side," Louis rocks back, twirls into a spin as he fishes around for his pack of cigs. Thumbs at the lighter stuffed into his back pocket as he strides for the diner exit. 

"Oh, Zayner-"

"I'll ask him, I'll ask him," Zayn shakes his head, a tilted smirk as he settles back down, watches how Louis laughs, young and free and out the door in seconds. 

Zayn sucks in the fresh scent of business and this place and home that he was sure he wouldn't ever come across again, but-

Here he is. 

And now that word isn't so hard to admit in his head. 

_Home._

_===_

It's around six in the evening, the sun is beginning to dip in the sky, twilight and crimson that lift high in the sky and sink the dandy-lion sun low beneath the faded clouds. 

The people have really began to pile out, leaving tray after tray, filthy dishes Caroline and Cher are up to their necks with, shoveling into the kitchen sinks and flipping off Andy and Niall as they scat for the night. 

Colin's perched at one of the last booths, a coloring book displayed on the table as he colors away, fingers red as they clutch at his box of crayons. Scribbles up and down, back and forth. 

Zayn tucks a smile away into his shoulder, this settle of ease that he's come to know quite well everytime he thinks about  _here_. 

Here where the air is air and the clouds are clouds and Zayn can breathe voluntarily. Here where he enjoys the parks and the greenery and the flower patches Caroline's planted right outside the diner's front doors. Astirs and Dahlia's and roses lined along the brick basing. 

Beautiful colors that scream Summer and have Zayn's fingers fidgeting in his lap because he's itching to paint. Itching to maybe possibly try to get somewhere with-

"I'd say-" 

The voice is low and the pair of arms that loop around his waist are strong, broad and tan as Zayn presses back. Teeth clamped down sharp on his bottom lip as Liam nuzzles his nose into Zayn's neck. 

"We did pretty smashingly, yeah?" 

Zayn nods, hums along to the tune of some Phillip Phillips song Liam's got blasting through the kitchen radio. A melody that catches the air like fire and spreads along Zayn's skin. 

(Or maybe that's just  _Liam_ -

-he still isn't sure.)

"Got loads of dishes and the sink's a right mess, but think we can manage." He says softly, nudges his nose along the shell of Zayn's ear, fingers that pinch at his thighs and have him swallowing stupid chuckles. 

"We." Zayn repeats, likes the way the words taste sweet along his tongue, the way they loosen and slip into him like adrenaline. 

"Speaking of," Liam pauses, spins him around, fingers loose along Zayn's as he leads him close behind, past a swinging counter and through heavy kitchen doors. 

The kitchen is steamy, still recovering and the opposite of spotless, but Zayn doesn't mind, really. 

He follows behind Liam, eyebrows raised when Liam stops short, leaves space for ayn to shuffle into place beside him. 

"Thought we could start a vision board, like-" he cuts off, holds up a finger to point and Zayn's heart thumps a little harder in his chest. 

It isn't something he recognizes right away. It's when his eyes linger and he traces them over smudgy markings. Colorings. A sandy beach, yellow and murky water, green that split into choppy waves along the shore. Three stick figures that face the water and stand like- it comes to him all too sweetly in the next second. A flimsy napkin for a canvas and-

"First memory on the board." Liam reaches up, presses his fingers to the tacks holding up Colin's drawing. 

"Absolute nerd." Zayn laughs, low and steady with a tongue stuck in between as Liam curves an arm around his back. 

"A nerd who can cook," he argues, fingertips gentle as they press into Zayn's side. 

And Zayn sinks into it, finally. This compression of acceptance that feels so fucking good running through his blood. 

"Arguable," Zayn says, teasing

"Guess you'll just have to deal with it" Liam wonders, comically, expression deflating in his next sentence, because-

 "That is, if you choose to stick around for good this time?"

Zayn presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, keeps down every sappy syllable he won't allow his teeth to spill, words lodged in his throat as he stuffs a grin into Liam's neck. Honey and ginger cologne and  _home_. 

"Think I'd be into it,  _Leeyum_." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is? I hope this was a memorable read for those of you who bothered to check it out? Let me know if it was truly amazing (or not) by leaving some kudos and or comments. 
> 
> The support is incredible and is always deeply appreciated as far as my confidence level in writing goes. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr 24/7. [My blog.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ch3stpaynes)


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